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Illustrated 


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GUENN 


A  WAVE    ON   THE    BRETON    COAST 


BY 


BLANCHE  WILLIS   HOWARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "  AUNT  SERENA,"  "  ONE  SUMMER,"  ETC. 


BOSTON   AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 


Copyright,  188S, 
By  James  R.  Osgood  and  Company. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Saints  de  mon  pays,  secourez-moi ! 

Les  saints  de  ce  pays  ne  me  connaissent  pas. 

Breton  Pilgrim's  Prayer. 


G  U  E  N  N". 


CHAPTER  I. 


ATE  one  September  after- 
noon a  small  red  and  yel- 
low omnibus  drew  up  noisily 
and  discharged  its  passen- 
gers before  the  Hotel  des 
MMWF^^'^^f^x^^^Mi  Voyageurs,  in  the  Breton 
^\*R^SIr€ftf^Bl  village  of  Plouvenec.  From 
the  nearest  railway-station 
to  this  region  of  ignorance, 
superstition,  and  picturesque 
beauty,  endless  white  roads 
stretched  away  between  fosses  —  or  embanlvments  oi 
granite  and  turf —  six  feet  high,  luxuriantly  overgrown 
with  moss  and  vines,  and  crowned  by  the  great  muti- 
lated oak-trunks  which  distinctively  mark  the  Breton 
landscape. 


2;;/;  '■.::' \'.:i    -v^OUENN. 


•     Wo*' 


During  a  drive  of  four  hours  the  box-like  vehicle 
had  mercilessly  shaken  its  contents  together ;  and  Mr. 
Everett  Hamor  had  felt  that  there  might  be  a  certain 
difficulty  in  finally  extricating  himself  from  the  vivid 
samples  of  the  commercial- traveller,  with  whose  elbows, 
knees,  high-colored  neckties,  and  valises  he  was  fre- 
quently in  confusing  juxtaposition.  Arriving,  he  was 
relieved  to  find  that  he  could  still  verify  his  identity. 
Stretching  his  long,  cramped  legs  with  satisfaction,  he 
stood  a  moment  at  his  ease  and  looked  about  him. 

The  village  fathers  were  sitting  at  little  tables  in  front 
of  the  cafe  of  the  Voyageurs,  regaling  themselves  with 
absinthe,  vermouth,  and  stale  politics.  In  Plouvenec, 
beside  dram-shops  of  startling  frequency,  there  were 
two  cafes  of  distinction.  Certain  prominent  person- 
ages left  one,  onl}^  to  walk  across  the  common  to  the 
other.  There  was  a  tide  in  the  aff'airs  of  the  cafes,  — 
each  da}^  a  regularly  recurring  ebb  and  flow  of  popular- 
ity. Ebb-tide  at  the  Voj^ageurs  meant  high-tide  at  the 
&rand,  and  vice  versa.  It  was  flood-tide  at  the  Voya- 
geurs when  Hamor  arrived. 

*'  Another  fool  of  a  painter  down  from  Paris,"  was  the 
tacit  comment  of  the  Plouvenec  worthies,  as  he  secured 
his  traps,  and,  with  a  quick  glance  up  and  down  the 
convivial  tables  and  in  the  cafe  windows,  passed  on  to 
meet  madame  standing  in  the  doorway.  Madame  was 
then  and  there  a  woman  much  to  Hamor's  taste,  and 
time  but  confirmed  his  impression  of  her  estimable 
qualities ;  while  she,  for  her  part,  never  ceased  to 
regard  the  j'oung  man  with  the  calm  smile  of  approval 
which  she  was  now  bestowing  upon  him,  as  they  inter- 
changed ideas  in  respect  to  rooms. 

Madame  had  the  air  of  a  Roman  mati'on  in  a  Bre- 
tonne  coifle.     Five  feet  and  eight  inches  in  height,  of 


GUENN.  3 

massive  proportions,  impressively  handsome,  and  strong 
enough  to  throw  a  too  nois}'  inebriate  out  of  the  win- 
dow without  shortening  her  breath  or  heightening  her 
color,  she  was  one  of  the  happy  few  whom  destiny 
adapts  to  their  surroundings. 

No  one  had  ever  seen  or  desired  to  see  her  angry. 
Madame's  personality  was  too  potent  in  its  calm  for  a 
wise  man  to  care  to  brave  its  storm.  She  had  singularly 
wide-open  brown  eyes,  whose  soft  unswerving  gaze, 
turned  broadly  upon  the  village  Falstaff  and  his  recruits, 
caused  panic  in  their  ranks,  and  disorderly  retreat. 
Beneath  the  edge  of  her  white  coiffe,  smooth  bands  of 
dark  hair  lay  close  on  her  imperturbable  forehead. 
Placidity  and  power  were  expressed  in  all  her  move- 
ments. In  short,  madame  was  a  newly  discovered  Fate, 
whom  to  def}"  were  madness.  There  was  a  monsieur,  a 
large  and  plethoric  man,  rarel}'  seen.  It  was  not  known 
for  what  purpose  he  was  employed  in  madame's  menage. 
There  were  also  seven  children,  in  a  more  or  less  thriving 
condition,  never  known  to  visibl}^  occupy  their  mamma's 
attention.  She  was  supposed  to  provide  for  them 
according  to  some  vast  and  inscrutable  method  No 
weakness  of  the  ordinary  mother,  solicitous  about 
mending  Jack's  manners  and  socks,  could  be  imputed 
to  her. 

Madame  and  Hamor  were  then  mutually  gratified. 
She  classified  him  as  a  handsome  and  amiable  young 
fellow,  who  would  give  little  trouble  and  in  all  prob- 
ability pa}'  his  bills.  He  saw  before  him  a  comely 
woman  of  superior  nerve,  who  would  care  for  his 
creature-comforts,  and  never  come  to  him  weeping  and 
demanding  sympathy  —  as  the  rustic  landlady,  according 
to  his  experience,  was  prone  to  do  in  hot  and  crowded 
seasons.     He   disliked   demands    upon   his   S3'mpathy. 


4  GUENN. 

Whether  because  he  possessed  too  large  or  too  small  a 
suppl}',  he  had  never  asked  himself. 

Yyovh  her  finel}^  intelligent  replies,  he  learned  that 
liis  friends  were  at  work  at  some  distance  from  the 
village.  Having  lunched  to  his  satisfaction,  he  lighted 
a  cigarette  and  sauntered  out. 

Before  him  was  an  open  square,  hard  with  the  tread 
of  many  sabots.  Near  the  inn  stood  a  couple  of  oaks. 
Beyond,  no  trees,  no  shrub  or  turf,  relieved  the  barren- 
ness of  the  expanse  of  earth,  which  bore  the  resounding 
name,  la  Place  Nationale,  —  otherwise  the  village 
common,  where  markets,  menageries,  gavottes,  games 
and  wrestling  matches,  wax-figures,  Robert  Macaires, 
and  every  species  of  public  entertainment  known  to 
Plouvenec,  were  wont  to  appear.  Directlj'  across  the 
common  was  a  gleam  of  water,  from  which  rose  low 
crenellated  walls  of  granite,  flanked  by  towers  and 
broad  ramparts.  Over  the  battlements  was  a  glimpse 
of  tree- tops  and  steep  roofs,  clustering  around  one 
church-spire. 

Plouvenec,  the  ancient  town,  with  its  one  irregular 
street  of  crowded  houses,  stood  on  an  island  encircled 
by  a  broad  arm  of  the  sea,  and  connected  with  the  mod- 
ern village  only  by  a  drawbridge.  The  fortress  was 
quaint,  ugly,  and  suggestive.  It  knew  more  than  five 
centuries  of  history,  and  the  dought}'  deeds  of  the  man}" 
wars  which  during  that  time  convulsed  Brittanj'.  Du 
Gueschn,  De  Rohan,  and  man}'  gallant  soldiers  had 
besieged  and  occupied  it,  and  enriched  its  memories. 
Old  tales,  less  creditable  to  its  reputation,  relate  grimly 
that,  as  early  as  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries, 
thieves,  cut- throats,  and  any  gentleman  who  had  mur- 
dered his  friend  or  committed  some  other  base  and  un- 
pardonable crime,  sought  refuge  among  the  notorious 


GUENN.  5 

rascals  sheltered  behind  the  stout  walls  of  Plouvenec. 
Like  many  another  old  sinner,  it  now  wore,  in  spite  of  its 
scandalous  past,  an  air  of  sullen  and  forbidding  morality. 
Its  sunrise  gun,  its  bugle-call,  —  its  score  of  soldiers, 
in  bagg}'  scarlet  trousers,  marching  under  the  portcullis 
and  over  the  drawbridge,  to  perform  somewhat  languid 
evolutions  on  the  common,  —  seemed  a  tribute  to  what 
had  been,  rather  than  discipline  demanded  by  any 
present  or  anticipated  need.  Rumors  of  war  were  far 
remote  from  the  dull  little  island  citadel.  Its  grass- 
grown  ramparts  commanded  broad  and  peaceful  waters, 
furrowed  only  by  the  fishing-boats  of  the  village. 

Hamor  passed  slowly  down  the  long  village  street. 
On  one  side  was  a  row  of  small  white  houses  with  steep 
gables.  On  the  other,  boats  were  crowded  along  the 
quay,  with  fishing-nets  hanging  to  dry  on  the  masts, 
and  waving  slightl}'  with  a  shadowy  effect. 

The  street  was  very  quiet.  An  old  woman  in  sabots 
hobbled  by.  A  group  of  dirty  and  pretty  little  girls, 
each  with  a  knitting-needle  over  her  right  ear  for  safe- 
keeping, or  run  through  the  top  of  her  coiflTe,  sat  on  the 
ground  playing  jackstones.  Small  cabins  stood  in  a  line 
along  the  quay  farther  down.  A  sharp  salt  smell  filled 
the  air,  and  the  incoming  tide  was  impatiently  w\ashing 
the  mighty  foundations  of  the  granite  digue.  The  street 
rounded  a  point,  and  ran  into  a  long  road  by  the  bay. 

Here  people  were  standing  waiting,  while  hundreds 
of  fishing-boats,  bringing  food  and  work  and  traflfic, 
were  coming  in.  It  was  the  life  of  Plouvenec  drawing 
near.  Over  the  broad  bay  the  boats  came  floating  like 
a  flock  of  great,  slow  birds.  The  low  fight  caught  their 
dusk}'  red  sails,  and  warmed  them  to  a  deeper  signifi- 
cance. The  sun  hung  far  down  in  the  western  sk}', 
and  sent  one  broad   golden  shaft  straight   along   the 


6  GUENN. 

surface  of  the  water,  to  lose  itself  in  rich  masses  of  shin- 
ing yellow  seaweed,  that  covered  the  great  rocks  at 
Hamor's  feet.  The  sky  was  gray,  and  tranquil  and 
tender.  Faint  rosy  clouds  drifted  together  over  a  dark 
promontory  in  the  distance,  and  fluttered  about  a  bold 
procession  of  pines  on  a  hill  near  b}^  —  their  stems  all 
leaning  landward,  as  if  marching  hurriedly  away  from 
the  pursuing  sea.  Far  away  to  the  west  the  long  land- 
line  was  strongly  blue. 

On  the  low  wall  between  the  road  and  the  beach 
perched  groups  of  women,  knitting,  chattering,  making 
bold  jokes,  telling  scandalous  stories,  laughing  noisil}'. 
They  were  fisher-girls,  employed  in  the  sardine  packing- 
houses across  the  wa3\  Hamor,  also  seated  on  the 
wall,  listened  to  them  half  unconsciousl}^,  —  viewed  them 
as  a  part  of  the  landscape.  Their  caps  were  luminous 
bits  of  white.  Their  faded  colors  were  charming  against 
the  gray  stone.  So  much  he  perceived,  merely  as  he 
saw  the  empty  packing-houses,  —  with  long  low  rooms, 
where  soon  the  chattering  women  would  be  at  work,  — 
the  advancing  waves  break  on  the  beach,  the  pale  clouds 
hovering  over  the  hill,  the  long  road  curving  towards 
shining  sands ;  and,  as  far  as  the  ej^e  could  reach,  the 
sardine-boats,  a  long  perspective  of  slowly  advancing 
luggers,  all  heading  towards  the  qua}^  all  running  in 
with  lazy  sail  on  a  wind  from  the  sea, —  a  wind  that  came 
from  beyond  the  Lannions,  the  group  of  barren  islands 
far  awa}',  whose  line  was  barely  perceptible  on  the  'iori= 
zon,  and  whose  brave  light,  even  as  Hamor  looked, 
flashed  into  existence,  and  flung  its  cheery  greeting  to 
the  sailor- world. 

The  3'oung  painter  was  moved  to  mild  retrospection. 
He  remembered  certain  prett^^  girls  he  had  known, 
lighth'  3'et   not  unkindh^  doubting  whether   they  were 


GUENN,  7 

quite  as  charming  as  they  had  seemed.  He  recalled 
a  solitary  mountain-peak,  whose  noble  shape  and  snowy 
summit  he  had  watched  mornings  and  evenings  during 
a  long  season  of  rough  California  life.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  to  doubt  the  transcendent  lovehness  of  Mount 
Shasta.  Hamor  worshipped  Nature.  He  had  never 
worshipped  a  woman. 

Rising,  he  walked  slowly  on,  —  smoking  still,  glancing 
critically  at  the  knots  of  women.  As  he  passed,  some 
made  remarks  in  Breton  and  giggled  obtrusively,  some 
stared  at  him  stolidly,  —  others  with  evident  dishke,  or 
coarse  admiration.  They  were  fisher-folk,  —  wives,  sis- 
ters, and  daughters  of  rough  men,  who  worked  hard  at 
sea  and  drank  hard  on  land.  Many,  it  may  be  the 
most  of  them,  were  innocent  in  life  or  thought ;  but 
hardly  one  could  be  quite  ignorant  of  vice.  Impure 
Influences  hovered  round  their  very  cradles.  Drunken- 
ness, brutality,  vile  language,  wife-beating,  brawls,  and 
murderous  assaults  were  as  familiar  to  their  earliest 
years,  as  its  mother's  face  and  sweet  lullaby  to  a  happy 
child.  They  knew  only  this  life  which  surrounded  them, 
and  habit  had  made  them  indifferent  to  scenes  that  ought 
to  chill  a  young  girl's  blood  with  horror.  But  a  little 
distance  from  the  village,  and  peasant- w^omen,  on  broad 
farms,  were  dutiful,  innocent,  gentle,  as  the  ideal  country 
maiden  need  be.  Here  in  turbulent  Plouvenec,  fate 
had  exposed  girls  to  evil  with  as  much  assiduity  as  she 
guards  others  from  it.  They  had  never  had  the  chance 
to  be  what  we  call  respectable.  Yet  among  these  coarse 
women  and  girls  waiting  on  the  wall,  while  the  red- 
sailed  boats  came  steadily  on  over  the  sunset-lighted 
bay,  there  were  faces  as  pure  and  proud  as  the  face  of 
a  young  duchess,  eyes  that  were  bold  yet  honest  and 
fresh  ;  there  were  the  beautiful  curves  and  free,  vigorous 


8  GUENN. 

limbs  of  youth  and  perfect  health  ;  while  the  sun  and 
wind  and  weather,  which  browned  and  roughened  their 
cheeks,  had  faded  their  kerchiefs,  once  of  glaring  colors, 
down  to  a  gentle  and  harmonious  indistinctness ;  and 
they  all  wore  their  simple  and  beautiful  coiffe,  which 
softens  heavy  peasant-features  marked  by  toil  and 
time,  refines  the  coarse,  and  lends  an  indefinable  charm 
of  delicacy  and  tenderness  to  a  fresh  young  face. 

Hamor,  as  he  regarded  them,  was  moved  by  the 
pure  enthusiasm  of  the  artist.  No  psychological  prob- 
lems occupied  him,  no  benevolent  probings  into  their 
sufferings,  experiences,  and  possibilities.  He  was  sim- 
ply and  greatly  pleased  with  their  colors  and  contours  ; 
and  his  handsome  young  face  expressed  vivid  sesthetic 
satisfaction,  which  the  uninitiated  might  easil}'  construe 
as  personal,  rather  than  objective  and  elevated.  The 
women  saw  the  look  in  his  eyes,  and,  woman-like, 
misinterpreted  it.  The}'  became  aware  of  this  friendly 
young  gentleman's  approval,  and  their  laughter  and 
movements  betra3'ed  a  certain  consciousness  of  his 
presence.  In  rude  play,  a  close  circle  was  formed 
concealing  one  of  their  number  from  his  view.  The}' 
looked  at  him  over  their  shoulders  in  high  glee.  Sud- 
denly, as  if  by  military  command,  the  circle  broke. 
The  women,  with  shrieks  of  coarse  laughter,  scattered 
to  the  right  and  left.  A  small,  black-cloth  object  flew 
through  the  air  and  dropped  near  him ;  when  Hamor 
perceived  directly  before  him,  alone  and  abandoned,  a 
little  figure,  with  a  heavy  mane  of  long  brown  hair,  fall-, 
ing  on  either  side  of  the  fiercest  eyes  it  had  ever  been 
his  lot  to  see  in  a  girl's  face.  Transfixed  with  confusion 
and  rage,  she  glared  at  the  unoffending  stranger  as  if  be 
were  the  exclusive  author  of  her  woes. 

"By  Jove,  what   a   model!"  and   Hamor   stopped 


GUENN.  9 

short.  She  was  scarcely  seventeen.  A  broad  kerchief, 
of  softly  blending  reds,  was  folded  over  her  pretty 
shoulders  and  down  to  her  slender  waist.  Her  short 
woollen  skirts  hung  in  dark  folds,  which  defined  her 
shape  with  the  unreserve  of  intimate  acquaintance,  as 
long- worn,  much-patched  garments  are  apt  to  do  ;  and 
she  stood  in  her  little  sabots,  with  a  bold  grace  only 
possible  to  a  girl  who,  consciousl}'  or  unconsciously,  has 
never  studied  the  proprieties.  One  small  rough  hand 
clutched  her  coiffe.  The  other  was  raised  to  her  head, 
while  from  under  her  lifted  elbow  she  scowled  at 
Hamor ;  and  all  her  brown,  shining  hair,  down  to  its 
gleaming,  russet  ends,  hung  loose  before  the  strange 
man. 

He  stooped  and  mechanically  picked  up  the  black 
skull-cap  lying  at  his  feet,  inspecting  it  seriously.  At 
this  the  women  shrieked  anew,  and  doubled  themselves 
up  in  uncouth  mirth. 

''This  is  3^ours?"  he  said,  approaching  the  girl, 
and  now  observing  other  caps  upon  the  grass  near  her. 
He  looked  at  her  kindly.  It  was  his  way  with  children, 
and  she  seemed  like  a  child  to  him.  In  his  expression, 
as  he  held  the  cap  towards  her,  was  the  quiet  scrutiny  of 
the  artist  and  the  habitual  courtesy  of  a  well-bred 
man.  She  did  not  know  what  courtesy  meant.  It  was 
extraneous  to  the  Plouvenec  fish-wife  sphere.  She 
thought  that  he  was  mocking  her.  Snatching  the  cap 
rudely  from  his  hand,  her  angry  blue  eyes  flung  at  him 
their  parting  message  of  hate  and  defiance. 

"You, — you  mind  your  own  business!"  she  said 
passionately,  in  rapid,  indistinct  Breton-French ;  and, 
with  one  swift  motion,  sprang  towards  the  women  who 
had  played  her  false,  upbraiding  them,  now  that  she  had 
found  her  tongue,  in  no  measured  terms.     Her  com- 


10  GUENN. 

panions,  pleased  with  the  delicate  humor  and  succesi 
of  their  practical  joke,  were  apparently  willing  enough 
now  to  form  themselves  into  a  dressing-room  for  the 
convenience  of  the  dishevelled  little  maid,  who,  with  all 
her  great  rage  and  small  caps,  disappeared  from  Hamor's 
view.  Within  the  stalwart  circle  the  angry  child  was 
pouring  forth  volleys  of  invective  and  reproach  in  her 
native  Breton  tongue,  which,  though  verbally  unintelli- 
gible to  Hamor,  could  not  fail  to  impress  him  as  singu- 
larly adapted  to  the  expression  of  ungovernable  rage. 
Amused  and  curious,  he  was  disposed  to  sta}^  and 
watch  her  complete  her  toilette,  which  had  for  him 
the  interest  of  any  other  unsolved  problem. 

There  was,  to  the  inexperienced  eyes  of  the  3^oung 
man,  an  attractive  incompatibility  between  the  diminu- 
tive head-gear  and  the  amount  of  hair  to  be  secreted 
within  it.  The  multiplicity  of  caps  also  bewildered 
him.  But  feeling  somewhat  out  of  place,  and  having  no 
desire  to  prolong  her  agitation,  he  went  tranquilly  on. 

"That  girl  must  pose  for  me.  She  is  a  nice  little 
thing.  She's  amusing,"  he  concluded.  Leaving  the 
quarrelling  fish- women  far  behind,  he  followed  the  road 
along  the  curving  shore  until  he  reached  a  dusky 
beach,  where  his  tread  sank  noiselessly  in  the  sand,  the 
waves  broke  with  a  soft  plash,  and  the  subtle  evening 
was  creeping  over  land  and  sea. 

Unconscious  of  distance,  he  walked  on  until  a  tower- 
ing pile  of  crags  suggested  itself  with  sombre  eloquence 
in  the  twilight  as  a  fitting  terminus  to  his  wanderings. 
He  turned  and  went  inland.  Broad  meadows,  tufted 
with  heather,  mullein,  and  brake,  succeeded  to  the  dunes. 
Narrow  stony  paths  led  him  along  fields  and  intimately 
between  giant  hay-stacks,  and  past  the  very  thresholc? 
of  some  isolated  cottage  —  where  the   day's  toil   was 


GUENN.  11 

already  merging  into  heavy  rest,  and  onl}^  the  dusky 
figure  of  a  belated  peasant,  and  his  mechanical  greeting, 
Deves  mat  dor''ch^  introduced  brief  life  and  movement 
into  the  stillness.  The  village  Hghts  shone  feebly  far 
away.  Long  roads  between  high,  granite  garden-walls, 
over  which  the  foliage  leaned  in  dense  shapes,  led 
down  towards  the  village-centre. 

He  returned  to  the  hotel.  Here,  except  for  the  ap- 
proach of  evening,  the  only  perceptible  change  was  that 
the  men,  who  had  been  drinking  vermouth  and  absinthe 
at  the  door,  were  now  drinking  absinthe  and  vermouth 
in  the  cafe. 

Madame  met  him  in  the  corridor,  with  her  discrimina- 
ting smile.  It  was  not  a  broadly  defined,  unreserved 
smile,  but  slow  and  sphinx-like.  She  smiled  to  herself, 
not  at  3'ou. 

"Monsieur's  friends  are  not  yet  come.  They  do  not 
expect  monsieur  to-day,  probably." 

"You  do  not  know  if  Mr.  Staunton  received  my 
dispatch  last  night  ?  " 

"There  is  one  here  for  him,"  she  answered  encour- 
agingly; "but  it  was  not  delivered  until  after  he  was 
gone  this  morning." 

Hamor  smiled. 

"Madame  the  postmistress  is  very  clever  and  amia- 
ble," announced  the  landlady. 

Hamor  politely  remarked  that  he  had  no  reason  to 
doubt  it. 

"  But  perhaps  a  little  distraite,"  she  continued 
gently. 

"Ah?" 

"It  is  therefore  well  when  messieurs  les  artistes 
give  themselves  the  trouble  to  beg  her  to  concentrate 
herself." 


12  GUENN, 

Madame  was  standing  now  in  a  doorway,  and  seemed 
to  support  her  whole  domicil. 

"  Superb  car3'atid  !  "  thought  Hamor. 

"  And  is  your  postmistress  apt  to  be  distraite  with  let- 
ters too  ?  "  he  asked  good-humoredly. 

*'  There  are  moments  when  it  is  possible  for  her  tc  be 
distraite  with  letters  also,"  madame  admitted,  her  broad, 
unconscious  gaze  turned  full  upon  the  young  man. 
"  Clever  people  are  often  distraits,"  she  added  mildly. 
Then  :  "  But  monsieur  without  doubt  has  been  to  see  the 
fish  ?  No  ?  The}^  have  had  a  good  catch.  The  stran- 
gers find  it  interesting.  Monsieur  would  do  well  to  take 
a  turn  down  the  quay." 

Confident  that  this  admirable  woman  would  recom- 
mend nothing  insignificant  to  his  notice,  he  thanked  her, 
and  went  cheerfully  out. 

The  deserted  street  along  the  quay,  where  he  had 
strolled  not  many  hours  before,  was  now  teeming  with 
life.  It  was  the  Fish-corner  of  Plouvenec  —  as  supreme 
in  power  and  interest  to  the  village,  as  is  the  Exchange  of 
a  great  city  to  its  speculators  and  capitahsts.  The  boats 
were  mostly  in  ;  some,  still  arriving,  met,  as  soon  as  they 
neared  the  shore,  with  calls,  inquiries,  and  proposals. 
People  were  hurrying  to  and  fro  with  long  flat  baskets  of 
sardines.  Women  knelt  recounting  fish,  fiinging,  for 
every  ten  in  one  basket,  one  as  tall}"  into  another.  The 
buyers'  cabins  were  lighted,  and  instinct  with  the  spirit 
of  traflSc.  Beside  fishermen,  buj^ers  and  sellers  of  sar- 
dines, men  and  women  employed  in  the  usines,  was  an 
outer  circle  of  lookers-on.  The  judge  of  the  peace  — 
short,  burly  and  plausible,  concealing  a  small  nature  be- 
hind a  large  smile  —  had  come  down  from  the  cafe.  A 
brace  of  influential  burghers  —  whose  monarchical  prin- 
ciples, dormant  mornings,  swelled  and  grew  blatant  every 


GUENN.  13 

evening  after  invigorating  baths  of  absinthe  —  accompa- 
nied him.  The  judge,  peasant-born  and  self-educated, 
had  gained  b}^  his  own  solid  exertion  his  comfortable 
niche  in  the  world's  municipal  wall,  and  regarded  himself 
as  indispensable  to  the  safety  of  the  French  Republic. 
His  patriotism  however  was  tempered  with  love  of  popu- 
larity, and  he  never  expressed  himself  too  decidedl}'^  in 
the  presence  of  his  Ro3'alist  boon-companions.  He 
found  consolation  in  the  reflection  that  the  Republic 
seemed  as  yet  placidly  unaware  that  Plouvenec  was  bat- 
tering at  its  outposts,  and  that  his  friends'  weapons  grew 
rustier  as  the  3'ears  rolled  by.  His  conception  of  the  du- 
ties of  his  office  led  him  always  to  decide  in  favor  of  both 
contesting  parties,  or  of  neither  of  them.  This  original 
method  of  dispensing  justice  he  practised  with  much  in- 
genuity. In  the  case  of  angry  peasants  it  was  eminently 
successful ;  as,  however  much  they  might  pommel  each 
other,  they  were  never  inclined  to  pommel  the  judge,  but 
were  deeply  impressed  with  his  equity  and  wisdom.  He 
was  thus  enabled  to  retain  the  good-will  and  respect  of  a 
somewhat  turbulent  neighborhood.  When  he  saw  two 
men  fighting,  he  usually  moved  gently  off  in  an  opposite 
direction.  The  chief  of  the  police,  a  slight  young  man 
with  a  mild  face  and  no  uniform,  had  also  strolled  down 
to  the  Fish-corner,  and  two  of  the  ubiquitous  gendarme- 
species —  as  usual  in  countrj'-places,  oblivious  of  their 
surroundings  —  stood  obstructively  about. 

Hamor  saw  too,  and  quickly  lost  sight  of,  some  3'oung 
men  whose  brown  velveteens  and  expression  of  ani- 
mated, pleased  inqmry  proclaimed  them  painters.  He 
also  observed  an  elderl}^  tourist  who,  having  inadver- 
tently found  himself  among  vulgar  people,  was  hurrying 
away,  with  an  air  of  discomfort  and  reproach  upon  his 
respectable  features. 


14  GUENN, 

Young  coiffed  girls,  linked  together  in  long  twining 
rows,  as  is  girl-fashion  wherever  girls  grow,  and  gam- 
ins, darting  about  with  shrill  street-songs  and  coarse 
street-wit,  completed  the  scene. 

Now,  fleeting  single  impressions  fascinated  Ilamor ; 
now,  it  was  the  effect  of  the  whole  which  interested  him 
profoundl}'.  Continuallj^  changing, — increasing,  de- 
creasing, and  swaying, — inconstant,  imperious,  charged 
with  excitement,  hoarse  voices  rising  in  angr}^  crescen- 
do,— the  mob  seemed  like  one  huge,  fierce,  multiform, 
protean,  living  thing. 

The  row  of  high  gabled  houses  held  aloft  dim  lanterns, 
which  cast  sickl}^  yellow  beams  upon  the  faces  beneath. 
Through  the  glass  door  of  a  drink-shop  came  an  orange 
gloW;  and  the  muffled  sounds  of  interior  life.  Phantom- 
like ships  lay  along  the  quay  in  intense  shadow.  The 
ancient  citadel  slumbered  upon  its  island.  Over  the 
black  waters,  on  the  other  shore,  were  long,  still  reaches, 
where  weary  peasants  slept  among  their  fosses  ;  and  an- 
cient Druid  stones  raised  themselves  sternty  under  silent 
heavens.  Beyond  the  digue  throbbed  the  ocean,  in  the 
m3'ster3^  of  night  and  distance. 

The  black  mass  of  human  life  surged  and  swa3'ed<, 
An  angr}^  woman  rose  from  among  the  kneeling  fish- 
wives. Cursing  and  heaping  invective  upon  a  neighbor, 
her  figure  dark  for  a  moment  against  the  white  houses 
and  the  lights,  she  fell  back  into  her  place.  Two  men, 
quarrelling  about  the  counting,  grappled  with  each  other 
and  disappeared,  rolling  over  in  the  shadow.  The  hny- 
ing  and  selling  and  counting  went  steadil}^  on ;  and, 
above  the  rough  cries,  Hamor  heard  the  3'oung  girls' 
high  voices  chanting  a  h3'mn  to  Our  Lad3^  of  the  Sea. 

A  violent  push,  followed  by  an  opening  in  the  crowd 
near  him,  seemed  to  suddenl3'  transform  him  from  a  mere 


GUENN.  15 

spectator  into  a  constituent.  Two  fighting  men  emerged 
from  the  general  indistinctness  into  ugly  prominence. 
The  bystanders  accorded  them  respectful  attention,  from 
which  Hamor  inferred  that  they  were  well-known  char- 
acters,—  it  might  be,  possessed  of  chronic  combative- 
ness,  like  two  rival  watch-dogs  in  a  small  neighborhood. 
One  was  a  short,  thick-set  sailor,  between  forty  and 
fifty,  whose  open  jersey  displayed  his  powerful  throat 
and  chest.  As  he  turned  awkwardl}^  now  towards,  now 
from  the  light,  cursing  in  drunken  furv,  his  stupid  fist 
occasionally  hitting  his  man,  oftener  plunging  aimlessly 
about,  Hamor  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  more  vicious- 
looking  brute.  The  other  was  j-ounger^  taller,  and  less 
strong,  but  held  his  own  tolerably  well.  Both  were  very 
drunk,  and  neither  knew  how  to  fight, 

Hamor  watched  them  with  extreme  disgust,  and  a  de- 
sire to  interfere  which  he  found  diflacult  to  restrain.  As. 
long  as  they  were  content  with  an  unskilful  belaboring 
of  each  other's  persons  with  the  natural  weapon,  the 
fist,  he  stood  b}^  passive.  When,  however,  the  short 
man,  b}^  an  evil  inspiration,  kicked  his  opponent,  threw 
him  flat,  and  began  trampling  upon  him  with  his  sabots, 
he  found  himself  promptly  seized  from  behind  and  drawn 
ofl",  his  elbows  pinioned  in  an  uncompromising  grip,  in 
spite  of  his  fierce  struggles.  Meanwhile  the  prostrate 
man  was  again  on  his  feet,  demanding  his  enemy. 
Finding  him  now  an  easy  prey,  he  struck  him  full 
in  the  face. 

"Let  him  alone,  3'ou  coward  !  "  exclaimed  Hamor,  his 
own  mettle  well  roused. 

"Keep  this  fellow  back,  some  of  you,  can't  you?"  he 
cried  to  the  unresponsive  crowd.  Then,  to  the  strug- 
gling man :  "I  will  let  you  go  when  you  are  quiet,  not 
before — do  you  hear?"    Observing  a  dangerous  look  in 


16  GUENN. 

the  eyes  of  the  attacking  party,  and  an  uplifted  arm,  he 
swung  his  prisoner  round  to  save  him  from  the  blow. 
Powerless  himself  to  parry,  he  moved  as  best  he  could 
to  avoid  it,  and  the  next  instant  found  himself  unharmed 
and  untouched.  He  turned,  and  perceived,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  strong  surprise,  the  all-sufficient  cause  of  the 
cessation  of  hostilities.  A  tall  dark  man,  in  a  priest's 
cassock,  was  restraining  the  sailor,  not  by  sacerdotal 
authority,  but  by  the  strength  of  his  excellent  biceps. 
Hamor  involuntarily  released  his  prisoner. 

*'  Hoel,"  said  the  young  priest,  "  jou.  know  it 's  no  use. 
I  am  stronger  than  you.  When  I  let  3^ou  free,  you  are 
to  go  home.  You  are  not  to  speak  to  any  one  on  the 
road.  K  you  speak  you  will  fight.  Come,  come!"  — 
and  throwing  his  arm  round  the  man's  shoulders,  still 
guarding  him  well,  talking  always,  soothing  him,  he 
marched  him  through  the  crowd,  pointed  him  in  the 
right  direction,  and  sent  him  off  towards  home. 

*'  Eemember,  —  no  talking  by  the  way  !  "  Hoel  walked 
a  few  steps,  stopped,  and  burst  into  maudhn  tears.  ''  I 
haven't  anything  against  Rodellec.  He's  my  friend. 
You're  my  friend.  We  are  all  friends,  monsieur  le  rec- 
teur,  all  good  Bretons.     But  when  Rodellec  says  — " 

"Never  mind  Rodellec.  You  may  tell  me  about  him 
another  day.  You  go  home  now,  and  try  to  keep  quiet. 
I  will  see  to  Rodellec.  Ti:ust  me  for  that,"  said  the  cure 
grimly. 

Presently  Hamor  saw  the  dark  face  and  broad  shoul- 
ders of  the  priest  returning,  and  observed  in  his  walk  a 
curious  sailor-swing. 

Hamor' s  sailor  in  the  meantime  stood  sullenly  consid- 
ering the  feasibihty  of  attacking  the  stranger.  The  tall 
priest,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  bore  straight 
down  upon  his  countryman. 


GUENJSr.  17 

"Rodellec,  go  home!"  he  said,  not  ungently,  but 
with  a  distinct  tone  of  command.  You've  caught 
enough  fish,  and  had  enough  drink  and  fighting.  Go 
home  now,  and  sleep  it  off."  The  light  from  the  near- 
est lantern  shone  on  his  gTave  and  striking  face. 

Rodellec,  with  profuse  oaths,  demuiTcd.  He  would 
break  Hoel's  head  first,  and  he  would  break  anybody's 
head  who  tried  to  stop  him.  Scowling,  and  supported 
on  the  arms  of  his  friends,  he  was  edging  along  towards 
Hamor. 

"I  shall  not  fight  you,"  said  the  young  man  coldly. 
*'  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you,  you  know.  But  whenever 
I  see  you  stamping  on  a  man's  face  with  your  sabots,  I 
shall  stop  it  if  I  can." 

**  Damn  you  ! "  said  Rodellec,  advancing. 
But  the  priest,  who  had  been  intently  watching  each 
speaker's  face,  now  stepped  forward  and  stood  beside 
Hamor. 

''  Go  home.  1  'i,eD  you  Herve  !  "  His  voice  was  stern 
and  imperious.  He  towered  above  the  sailors, — his 
head  thrown  back,  a  flash  of  honest  anger  in  his  eyes. 
*'  Shame,  Rodellec  !  and  shame  on  the  rest  of  you  men, 
that  you  urge  him  on.  Stand  back,  I  say.  You  must 
be  drunk,  indeed,  if  you  let  me  speak  twice.  What  — 
you,  Alain?  You,  Jean?  And  Michel,  too?  Back,  all 
of  you  !     Back,  Loic !  " 

The  men  drew  back   abashed;  only  Rodellec  held 
his  ground,  snarling  viciously. 
"  Do  you  dare  to  refuse  me  ?  " 

Rodellec  evidently  dared  to  refuse  anj^body.  He 
was  measuring  the  two  men  with  his  eyes,  painfully 
speculating  upon  his  chances  of  success,  in  case  he 
should  attack  the  Church  Militant.  ''Man  fights  a 
priest;   priest  fights  a  man,"   he   muttered    sullenly. 

2 


18  GUENN. 

"Bad  for  man.  Saints  and  angels  stand  by  priest; 
devil  stands  by  man !  Odds  against  me  —  and  the 
stranger  clutches  like  a  fiend." 

The  two  young  men  exchanged  an  involuntary  smile. 
Then  the  priest  said  more  kindly  :  ' '  Priests  don't  fight, 
Kodellec,  as  you  know  when  you  are  sober.  They 
keep  others  from  fighting  —  if  they  are  strong  enough ; 
and  happily  they  are  sometimes,"  he  added,  drawing  up 
his  powerful  figure.  "Go,  Herve.  You'd  better  go 
now,  3^ou  see." 

Growhng  a  parting  round  of  blasphemies  and  male- 
dictions, Rodellec  snatched  his  beret  from  a  friend's 
hand,  and  stumbled  off. 

A  light  little  figure  pressed  quickly  through  the  crowd 
and  followed  him.  Hamor  recognized  the  girl  he  had 
seen  on  the  shore,  with  the  loose  hair.  He  knew  her 
by  her  eyes.  Now  all  the  shining  hair  was  out  of 
sight,  and  the  demure  white  coifie,  with  its  pure  oval, 
framed  the  young  face.  She  met  nis  glance  with  a 
hard,  bold  stare,  but  when  she  greeted  the  priest  a  warm 
smile  broke  over  her  defiant  eyes  and  set  mouth. 

"  Bonsoir,  monsieur  le  recteur,"  she  said  modestly, 
making  her  little  reverence,  and  was  gone.  Hamor 
turned  to  his  neighbor.  He  was  looking  gravely  after 
the  girl.  From  the  shadow  a  grotesque  hump-backed 
figure  leaped  after  her,  with  a  whoop.  Now  they  were 
lost  in  the  darkness.  Now  the  light  from  a  lantern  on 
the  next  house  fell  upon  them,  —  the  two  children  hand 
in  hand,  the  girl  walking  stolidl}'  beside  her  father, 
who  was  gesticulating  and  apparently  swearing  at  her. 

"  Monsieur  le  cure,"  began  Hamor  cordially,  his 
hand  outstretched,  "  at  last  I  have  the  opportunity  to 
thank  you  —  and  —  " 

"  It  was  nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  returned  the  priest 


GUENN.  '  19 

abruptly,  looking  as  if  he  would  like  to  save  himself  as 
soon  as  possible.  His  air  of  authority  was  gone.  Here 
was  merely  a  simple  country  cure,  eying  the  foreigner 
with  ill-concealed  suspicion  and  race-prejudice.  "It 
was  nothing,  I  assure  you,  monsieur,"  he  repeated 
uneasily. 

"I  admit  it  was  not  much,"  said  Hamor  gravely; 
"  but  let  us  be  just,  — it  was  my  head."  His  mannei 
was  easy  and  winning. 

"  Ah,  monsieur  !  —  " 

"And  great  was  my  reUef  when  I  found  it  was  all 
there,  and  saw  so  important  an  ally  —  my  defences 
being  occupied  at  the  moment." 

The  priest  smiled. 

"Monsieur  also  did  very  well,"  he  said  simpty. 
^'Rodellec  is  strong. — Monsieur  is  a  strange^',  ^  per- 
ceive.    An  Englishman,  perhaps?" 

"An  English-speaking  person,  but  not  an  English- 
man; I  am  an  American.  However,  that  is  all  the 
same  thing  to  you,  I  presume." 

"On  the  contrary,   I  am  much  interested   in  your 
America,"  returned  the  cure.     "  I  have  read  the  histor}' 
of  your  war.     Is  monsieur  from  North  or  South  Amer 
ica  ?  "  he  inquired  courteously. 

Aware  of  the  utter  futility  of  any  attempt  to  rectify 
this  error,  which,  with  all  its  grand  geographical  vague- 
ness, he  had  heard  a  dozen  times  before  in  France, 
Hamor  replied  that  he  was  from  the  North ;  briefly 
adding  that  he  was  an  artist,  had  studied  several  years 
in  Paris,  and  had  arrived  only  that  day  in  Plouvenec. 

"  Then  I  regret  that  you  have  met  with  precisely  this 
welcome."  The  cure  was  no  longer  abrupt  and  embar- 
rassed. He  was  speaking  now  with  a  fine  simplicity. 
His  dark  face  was  singularly  brilliant.     His  height  and 


20  '  GUENN. 

carriage  made  him  a  most  striking  figure.  "  They  are 
not  bad  fellows  —  our  sailors  —  when  thay  are  not 
drunk." 

"  But  they  are  usually  drunk,  are  they  not?"  Hamor 
ventured  to  say. 

"  Well  yes,  too  often,  —  alwaj^s,  after  a  heavy  catch," 
was  the  frank  reply. 

"This  is  a  most  curious,  interesting  scene  here  to- 
night." 

''  You  find  it  so,  monsieur?  "  said  the  priest,  with  an- 
imation. "I  —  I  love  it;  but  I  am  a  Breton;  you 
could  not  be  expected  to  see  it  as  I  do ! " 

''  And  yet  it  may  be  that  our  impressions  of  it  do  not 
EifFer  much,"  replied  Hamor,  intent  upon  studying  the 
priest's  face,  and  talking  quite  at  random. 

* '  Impressions  ?  "  The  ciure  frowned  slightly.  ' '  I 
have  no  impressions.  I  am  in  it  —  of  it.  I  am  of  the 
people,  monsieur.  It  is  the  pulse  of  the  people  beating 
here,  — I  feel  it." 

"And  I?"  Hamor  asked,  with  a  smile,  —  "I  am 
sure  I  feel  it  too." 

"  Ah  —  you  feel  the  pulse  like  a  doctor,  monsieur,  and 
count  it  cleverly,  it  may  be.     I  —  beat  with  it !  " 

"But,"  said  Hamor,  with  good-humored  expostula- 
tion, "  3"0u  can't  expect  me  to  beat  with  it  all  at  once. 
If  I  do  not  beat,  I've  been  at  least  almost  beaten.'* 

"You  are  right,  monsieur.  It  is  perfect^  natural 
that  strangers  should  regard  it  as  a  spectacle.  Ah,  I 
forget  that  too  often  !  "  Then  smiling,  and  with  what 
Hamor  thought  the  most  charming  manner  in  the 
world:  "  I  am  not  much  used  to  strangers.  I  am  apt 
to  be  impatient  of  strangers.  And  the  truth  is,  mon- 
sieur, we  Bretons  are  a  stubborn,  prejudiced  race." 

"Well,    so  are   we,"  returned  Hamor,   laughing   a 


GUENN.  21 

little.  "  In  fact,  I  have  yet  to  discover  the  race  that 
is  note  I  was  about  to  ask  you,  monsieur  le  cure, 
how  many  fish  they  have  caught  to-day." 

"Fifteen  thousand  to  a  boat  —  the  largest  catch  of 
the  season." 

"Ah!  then  a  little  elation  is  pardonable.  And  you 
called  the  man  —  my  man  —  Rodellec,  I  beheve." 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  — Herve  Rodellec." 

"  And  the  young  girl  with  him  ?  Is  she  his  daughter  ?  " 

The  cure  turned  away  from  the  light.  "That  was 
Guenn,"  he  said  slowh^,  —  "  Guenn  Rodellec." 

"  A  most  remarkable-looking  girl,  —  a  beautiful  girl," 
Hamor  rejoined  with  emphasis. 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  "  Monsieur  will  pardon 
me,"  the  cure  began  hurriedly.  "The  people  seem  to 
be  scattering.  There  are  some  men  I  must  see.  I  have 
the  honor  to  wish  monsieur  a  very  good-evening  —  " 

"  Oh,  don't  let  me  detain  you,"  Hamor  returned  cor- 
dially ;  "  but  may  I  not  say  au  revoir?  You  will  allow 
me  to  call  and  pay  my  respects?  I  shall  not  forget 
what  you  have  done  for  me.  And  although  I  am  a 
stranger,"  —  he  laughed  pleasantly,  —  "I  am  going  to 
be  a  regular  Breton  before  long." 

"Monsieur  is  too  amiable,"  and  the  priest  gave  a 
deprecating  gesture.  Then,  since  it  was  a  question  of 
hospitality:  "It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  see  you. 
But  I  do  not  live  in  Plouvenec.  Monsieur  will  have  the 
trouble  of  finding  me  on  my  islands.  Permit  me"  — 
extending  his  card.  Making  kind  yet  somewhat  for- 
mal adieux,  he  walked  rapidly  away,  with  his  sailor-gait 
and  his  long,  swinging  soutane. 

Hamor  held  the  card  up  to  the  first  available  light, 
and  read:  — 

Thymert 
jRecteur  cfef  Lannions, 


22 


GUENN. 


"  Thymert,  Eecteur  of  the  Lannions,  —  whatevet 
they  may  be,— you're  the  type  I've  been  looking 
for.  Mo7isieur,  I  am  of  the  people  I  Magnificent  pose, 
and  the  pride  of  a  cardinal."  With  a  well-pleased 
smile  he  walked  back  to  the  inn.  He  believed  m 
his  star. 


CHAPTER   II. 


lYERETT  HA- 
MOR'S  domi- 
nant mental 
quality  was  un- 
bounded faith 
in  his  own  fu- 
The  conviction  of 

^   greatness,  which 

had  buoyantly  sustained 
him  during  a  long  period 
of  probation,  —  not  being 
uncommon  to  ambitious 
young  painters  of  six  or 
seven  and  twenty,  — 
might  have  been  regard- 
ed by  sober  maturity  with 
I  the  pitying  indulgence  it  is  apt  to  accord  to  the 
vast  dreams  of  youth,  had  not  his  devotion  to  his  art, 
and  his  stern  power  of  immolating  upon  its  altar  all 
things  Hable  to  distract  his  worship,  seemed  to  impart 
to  his  aspirations  a  certain  clear  tone  of  prophecy. 
I  He  had  been  heard  to  make  the  savage  assertion  that  to 
reach  his  goal  he  would  not  hesitate  to  walk  over  the 
bodies  of  babes  and  virgins.  Now  no  man  could  be 
more  uniformly  gentle  than  he  to  these  tender  classes 


24  GUENN, 

of  beings,  and  it  is  open  to  doubt  whether  he  would 
have  been  practically  able  to  take  so  inhuman  a  prome- 
nade, even  to  gain  the  height  where  Titian  stands.  Life 
had  as  yet  demanded  of  him  no  fatal  sacrifice.  It  had 
however  led  him  by  somewhat  devious  paths  to  his 
present  position. 

His  childhood  was  that  of  a  New  England  boy,  who 
lives  in  a  classic  old  town,  of  whose  earl}-  histor}'  and 
honorable  tradition  his  family  has  always  been  a  dis- 
tinguished element.  The  influences  of  such  a  sheltered 
home  reach  tenaciously  into  one's  farthest  future. 

When  he  went  to  college  he  was  somewhat  delicate 
phj'sicall}',  sensitive,  timid,  and  unusually  ignorant  of 
life.  He  had  been  reared  exclusively  by  gentle,  con- 
scientious, and  clever  women.  With  his  first  plunge 
into  the  world,  he  met  with  various  rude  shocks,  some 
of  which  harmed  him,  while  some  proved  of  incalculable 
benefit.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  no  honest  biographer 
can  attribute  to  Hamor's  four  years'  college  course  the 
honor  of  eminent  scholarship,  much  less  the  virtue  of 
unwearying  diligence.  His  ability  was  unquestioned. 
He  might  have  distinguished  himself  in  many  branches, 
but,  the  truth  is,  he  excelled  in  none.  It  may  be  that 
he  lacked  ambition  as  a  student ;  possibly  he  and  the 
aristocratic  young  men  of  his  acquaintance  considered 
it  better  tone  to  be  merry  than  to  be  wise,  and  it  is 
certain  that  he  devoted  too  much  time  to  the  painting 
of  huge  pictures  for  boat-clubs  and  class-day  surprises. 

This  kind  of  work  was  however  merely  for  his  own 
passing  pleasure.  The  thought  of  becoming  a  painter 
had  not  yet  taken  possession  of  him. 

Afterwards  it  seemed  incredible  that  he  had  wasted 
so  many  years,  ignorant  of  what  was  awaiting  him. 
But  his  early  vague  desires  were  half  crushed  by  the 


GUENNo  25 

weight  of  family  tradition.  The  men  of  his  race  had 
been  grave  scholarly  gentlemen,  living  among  their 
books.  There  had  never  been  a  painter  among  them, — 
*'or  an  organ-grinder,  thank  God!'*  the  true  Puritan 
spirit  might  have  added  in  one  breath.  Not  that  in  a 
town  of  acknowledged  literary  tendencies,  prestige,  and 
rich  tradition  one  had  no  interest  in  the  Old  Masters, 
and  no  good  engravings  on  one's  walls.  But  the  Old 
Masters  were,  after  all,  foreigners.  There  had  never 
been  any  in  New  England.  No  doubt  there  were 
excellent  people  in  Japan ;  but  who  could  expect  of 
them  the  less  oblique  eyes  or  the  probity  of  old  Puritan 
stock?  So  too  with  gypsies,  actors,  and  painters.  Art, 
defined  in  a  general  way,  was  something  itinerant  if  not 
dissolute.  An  artist  —  a  pedler,  indeed  —  could  have 
amiable  qualities,  but  should  hardl}^  be  trusted  with  one's 
daughter  or  one's  spoons.  Did  not  a  boy  often  cherish 
wild  longings  to  join  a  circus,  to  run  away  to  sea,  to  be 
an  artist, — heaven  knows  what  ?  But  properly  managed, 
he  would  outgrow  his  vagaries,  and  become  a  respec- 
table man, —  not  differing  essentially  from  people  around 
him. 

The  opposition  to  Hamor's  strong  but  sleeping 
artistic  tendency  was  as  powerful  as  it  was  subtle.  In 
^he  air  he  breathed,  in  all  his  best  associations,  he  met 
with  it.  Every  near  influence  served  to  impress  him 
with  the  locally  accepted  fact  that  a  painter  is  at  best 
an  impractical  and  a  visionary  being,  who  would  be  a 
most  incongruous  figure  to  introduce  in  a  staid  row  of 
Puritan  divines.  He  had,  himself,  a  profound  respect 
for  worldly  success,  and  his  character  was  not  wanting 
in  New  England  thrift  and  shrewdness.  Far  fron] 
madly  vowing  to  follow  Art  at  any  price,  and  die,  if  need 
be,  at  her  glorious  feet,  he  decided,  in  a  cool  business* 


26  GUENN. 

like  way,  that  as  painting,  in  all  probability,  would  not 
prove  a  practical  means  of  support,  it  would  be  prudent 
for  a  3'oung  man,  who  had  his  own  fortunes  to  make  or 
mar,  to  begin  to  interest  himself  in  something  else. 

But  his  nature  was  continuall}^  at  odds  with  the 
limitations  of  his  surroundings.  It  is  therefore  not 
surprising  that,  at  the  close  of  his  college  course,  he 
was  still  irresolute  as  to  the  choice  of  a  career.  More- 
over, sunny,  debonair,  and  apparentl}'  thoughtless  as  he 
was,  he  had  the  saving  grace  to  weigh  himself  in  the 
balance  with  generally'  unsatisfactory  results. 

He  accused  himself  of  vacillation,  want  of  self-reliance, 
many  distressing  weaknesses.  But  he  resolved  to  give 
himself  time  to  know  his  own  mind.  Finding  himself 
what  he  called  soft^  he  decided  to  harden.  Having 
no  clearl}^  defined  idea  of  the  difficulties  of  self-support, 
he  determined  to  support  himself,  and  so  learn  them. 
Like  a  restless  boy  setting  off  for  the  Crusades  to  win 
his  spurs,  Hamor  went  West,  where  he  met  with  work, 
adventures,  hardships,  and  perils  to  his  heart's  desire, 
and  by  doing  various  things  indifferentlj^  well,  manfully 
earned  his  daity  bread.  The  hardening  process  began 
speedily.  At  one  time  he  was  employed  in  a  cit}'  shop, 
which  he  loathed.  He  taught  school  in  a  backwoods 
settlement.  He  roughed  it  with  hunters  and  guides. 
As  a  pedagogue  he  was  a  success.  The  ancestral  gift 
of  expounding  had  descended  upon  him.  Before  his 
twent}'  pupils  of  both  sexes,  ranging  from  four  to  nine- 
teen 3'ears  of  age,  he  felt  himself  master  of  the  situation. 
He  succeeded  in  teaching  his  boys  more  than  they  ever 
learned  from  books,  before  or  since  his  epoch,  constantly 
illustrating  his  themes  b}^  graphic  sketches  on  the 
blackboard,  to  his  own  as  well  as  their  huge  enjoyment. 

He  increased   his  knowledge  of  human   nature  an<? 


GUENN.  27 

certain  occult  sciences  by  pleasurably  close  observation 
of  the  habits  of  Indians,  Chinamen,  the  polished  faro- 
player,  and  the  most  ignorant  and  brutal  vagabonds. 
He  learned  to  sit  an  untrained  horse,  throw  a  lasso, 
handle  a  gun,  and  use  his  fists.  Two  nomadic  years, 
chiefly  among  coarse  people,  and  free  from  conventional 
restraint,  may  not  have  been  unconditionally  improving 
to  a  man  of  Hamor's  temperament ;  but  he  had  gained 
his  object.  He  was  hardened,  and  knew  his  own 
mind. 

In  the  mountains,  in  the  vast  unbroken  forests, 
Nature  and  his  own  heart  revealed  to  him  his  destiny ; 
and  he  felt  at  last  that  he  was  born  for  art,  that 
painting  was  the  one  unwavering  desire  of  his  soul,  the 
one  life  in  which  he  could  hope  for  happiness.  He  lost 
no  time  in  bewailing  his  delay.  He  felt  indeed  that  he 
had  no  time  to  lose.  Returning  East,  he  made  whatever 
financial  arrangements  were  feasible,  received  without 
compunction  the  somewhat  startled  and  anxious  bless- 
ings of  his  friends,  and  sailed  for  France. 

Paris  then  succeeded  to  the  backwoods,  and  inces- 
sant work,  to  the  mutability  of  his  recent  occupations, 
—  work  that  was  keen  joy  to  him,  that  seized  and 
owned  him.  The  technical  training  that  he  needed; 
the  stimulus  of  a  great  atelier,  with  the  companionship 
of  scores  of  eager,  ambitious  young  men ;  the  free 
judgment  of  his  peers ;  the  brief,  weighty  word  of 
criticism  from  masters,  whose  least  glance  of  interest 
was  an  invaluable  boon  to  a  young  artist,  —  Hamor 
had  at  last,  and  almost  without  price,  so  great  is  the 
help  that  France  nobly  gives,  for  Art's  sake,  to  Art's 
followers. 

He  was  speedily  recognized  as  a  man  of  promise. 
*'  A   strong  draughtsman,"  his    friends  admitted ;  but 


28  GUENN. 

they  were  apt  to  slightly  shrug  their  shoulders  when 
they  spoke  of  his  color.  "There  is  something  in  him," 
said  the  experts.  His  comrades  began  to  watch  him, 
to  ask  his  advice.  But  greater  than  any  one's  faith  in 
him  was  Hamor's  supreme  faith  in  himself.  "  I  am 
going  to  show  them  what  good  painting  is.  I  can't 
yet ;  but  I  will  before  I  die." 

In  the  mean  time  —  as  his  pictures  had  not  yet  a  large 
marketable  value,  and  since,  in  spite  of  a  portrait  not 
quite  fatally  hung  in  the  Salon,  after  his  second  year  in 
Paris,  and  even  a  "  mention  honorable,"  the  world  at 
large  was  unaware  of  the  existence  of  our  American 
Raphael  —  he  found  it  expedient,  after  a  summer  in  the 
lovely  Fontainebleau  Woods,  to  retire  to  a  remote  Breton 
fishing- village,  for  a  season  of  inexpensive  living,  im- 
provement in  color,  outdoor  work,  and  inward  growth. 

If  a  racehorse  could  direct  with  superior  intelligence? 
the  gradual  development  of  his  own  speed  and  strength, 
coolly  recognizing  the  necessit}'  of  a  rotation  of  exercise, 
oats,  and  rest,  he  would  bear  a  certain  resemblance  to 
Kverett  Hamor,  biding  his  time  with  a  long  patience, 
preparatory  to  entering  the  lists. 

Like  most  geniuses,  actual  or  potential,  Hamor  had 
his  share  of  startling  inconsistencies.  Good  old-fash- 
ioned New  England  traits  and  rank  Bohemianism  pla3^ed 
hide-and-seek  in  the  nooks  and  crannies  of  his  character, 
leaping  out  alternately  to  surprise  the  unwary.  He  was 
brusque  and  gracious,  arrogant  and  modest,  hard  and 
tender,  shallow  and  deep,  narrow  and  liberal,  prudent 
and  careless  —  by  turns.  Any  play  of  emotion  in  his 
immediate  proximit}^  was  apt  to  vex  or  weary  him.  He 
distinctly  preferred  to  live  on  the  surface  of  things, 
studying  human  passion  only  in  its  distant  picturesque 
effects.     If  a  dense  cloud  of  feeling  seemed  to  threaten 


GUENN.  29 

him  from  any  quarter,  he  would  discreetly  shelter  him- 
self under  his  moral  umbrella.  He  could  completely 
ignore  a  near  appeal  for  s^^mpathy ;  but  something  aa 
safely  removed  from  him  as  the  sorrows  of  ^neas  waa 
apt  to  touch  him  profoundly.  Indeed,  the  well-knowi} 
passage,  beginning, 

"  Infandum  regina  jubes  renovare  dolorem," 

he  liked  to  mutter  rather  ti-aglcally  to  himself;  and  bf 
the  time  he  had  reached 

"  Jam  nox  humido  coelo 
Praecipitat  suadentque  cadentia  sidera  somnos/* 

his  face  always  softened  perceptibly. 

He  was  punctiUously  courteous  to  the  lower  classes ; 
and  often,  in  these  French  country-places,  would  hasten 
his  step  to  adjust  a  toppling  bundle  of  grain  on  the  head 
of  some  withered  old  crone,  or  to  relieve  a  little  maid 
of  a  package  that  seemed  too  heavy  for  her.  He  had 
even  been  known  to  ofier  his  cigarette-case,  with  a 
charming  smile  of  approval,  to  a  rascall}'  looking  re- 
turned convict.  This  action  was,  however,  by  no  means 
due  to  benevolence,  but  rather  to  an  instinctive  desire 
on  the  painter's  part  to  repay,  if  slightly,  the  great 
artistic  pleasure  he  had  experienced  in  observing  the 
man's  heavy  neck,  sly  eyes,  small  cruel  mouth,  weak 
chin,  and  all  the  mean  and  sordid  lines  indicative  ol 
the  harmoniousl}^  developed  villain. 

But,  in  spite  of  this  gentle  consideration  to  strangers, 
beggars,  and  thieves,  Hamor  was  capable  of  a  rare  dis- 
regard of  the  comfort  and  idiosyncrasies  of  his  friends. 
He  was  an  extremely  poor  listener,  and  an  inveterate 
and  oblivious  interrupter,  caring,  in  general,  little  for 
what  other  people  had  to  say.  Any  dissertation  of  an 
earnest  nature  bored  him,  and  he  had  not  always  the 


30  GUENN. 

social  grace  of  feigning  an  interest  in  it.  He  would 
often  chatter  volubly,  in  a  sunny,  irrelevant,  expansive 
fashion,  about  topics  as  indifferent  to  himself  as  to  his 
hearers,  unconscious  that  the  mental  wires  were  down 
between  him  and  his  surroundings,  and  regardless  of 
the  general  devastation. 

A  habit  of  his,  perhaps  more  fantastic  than  false,  was 
that  of  posing,  or  trying  his  own  rifect,  in  different 
mental  attitudes,  against  different  backgrounds.  It 
was,  upon  the  whole,  a  harmless  eccentricity,  practised 
chiefly  upon  very  young  women  with  wondering  eyes ; 
and  he  was  apt,  in  rare  movements  of  self-analysis,  to 
be  somewhat  ashamed  of  it.  Indeed  he  was  prone,  at 
widely  intermittent  intervals,  to  spasms  of  penitence  for 
all  his  failings ;  but  in  general  he  did  not  occupy  him- 
self with  very  rigid  introspection. 

He  had,  in  short,  many  characteristics  which,  in  case 
of  his  success,  would  be  cited  as  eccentricities  of  gen- 
ius, —  in  case  of  failure,  would  unquestionably  be  classi- 
fied under  a  less  complaisant  head,  — and  which  ma3^or 
may  not  have  been  originally  due  to  the  instinctive  efforts 
of  a  timid  and  suspicious  nature  to  range  itself  with  less 
sensitive  material.  Wayward  in  non-essentials,  Hamor 
was  a  man  of  principle  in  matters  which  he  regarded  as 
the  real  conduct  of  life.  His  theories  were  often  scat- 
ter-brained ;  his  acts  were  usually  simple  and  sensiblco 
His  deed  was  better  than  his  word. 

Physicalh^  he  was  an  attractive  man.  The  long  lank 
American  figure  —  which  his  countrymen  seem  not  so 
much  to  have  inherited  from  their  ancestors,  as  through 
some  unexplained  process  to  have  borrowed  from  the 
former  occupants  of  the  soil  — never  seemed  to  incom- 
mode him.  He  had  no  unusual  strength,  but  was  ex- 
ceedingly well  trained  in  all  kinds  of  bodily  exercise. 


GUENN.  31 

An  easy  fashion  of  wearing  his  clothes,  evidently  regard- 
ing them  as  of  the  least  possible  importance,  was  one 
of  his  salient  properties  ;  but  a  man  whose  high  head 
and  rarely  beautiful  profile  would  have  had  dignity, 
emerging  from  an  Indian  blanket,  might  be  pardoned  for 
rebellion  to  his  tailor.  His  secretive  obstinate  mouth, 
with  the  prejudices  of  centuries  lurking  in  its  corners, 
was  flatly  contradicted  by  a  smile  so  sunn}',  kind,  and 
free,  that  the  wild  little  Breton  girls  soon  smiled  back 
at  him  under  their  prim  white  coiffes,  and  forgot  to 
be  afraid  of  the  stranger.  Changeable  ej'es,  too  near 
together,  glanced  from  beneath  a  narrow  and  sol- 
emnly ministerial  forehead,  giving  him  a  singular  effect 
of  a  charming  faun  wearing  the  mask  of  a  Plymouth 
deacon. 

Hamor  was  then  enigmatical,  elusive,  and  not  ^rhat 
women  call  a  satisfactory  person. 


CHAPTER   III. 


SOME  days  after  the  great  sardine-catch,  Gnenn 
Rodellec  went  to  the  river.  Going  to  the  river 
was  an  event  which  took  place  three  or  four  times  a 
week  in  Plouvenec,  but  its  frequenc}'  made  it  none  the 
less  delightful  to  Guenn.  How  could  she  fail  to  enjoy 
it?  All  the  women  clustered  on  the  bank,  kneeling 
and  washing  their  linen,  and  spreading  it  out  to  dr}'  on 
the  clean  grass,  reeds,  brambles,  and  tufts  of  heather 
and  brake ;  and  everything,  positively  ever3'thing  that 
had  happened  in  Plouvenec  since  the  last  time,  —  with 
much,  indeed,  that  had  not,  — related  in  stirring  style 
by  practised  tongues. 

Guenn  had  gone  to  the  river  earlier  than  most  girls, 
and  was  rather  proud  of  being  one  of  the  regular 
members  of  this  great  sisterhood,  that  bleached  clothes 
diligently,  but  never  by  any  chance  whitened  a  reputa- 
tion. Girls  who  had  mothers  rarely  went  to  the  river 
Very    j^oung.     Even    here,    where    childhood    was    so 


OCTEN]^.  33 

unguarded,  there  was  a  tacit  understanding  that  it  was 
in  a  certain  sense  a  decided  step  in  a  girl's  life,  a  crisis, 
when  she  first  went  to  the  river.  She  was  old  enough 
now  for  anj'thing.  It  was  an  event  of  as  much  impor- 
tance as  the  first  ball  of  a  girl  in  the  great  world. 

But  Guenn,  having  no  mother,  began  in  her  ninth 
year  to  represent  her  family  in  the  washing  conclave, 
and  to  look  forward  to  its  chronique  scandaleuse  with  as 
much  eagerness  as  a  fashionable  young  lady  awaits 
the  next  instalment  of  a  sensational  novel.  She  could 
now  hold  her  own,  in  rac}^  anecdote  and  piquant  repartee, 
with  the  most  virulent  old  fish- wife  among  them.  It 
was  always  dull,  or  worse,  at  home.  Nannie  was  never 
there  ;  for  all  day  long  he  was  hanging  about  the  wharves, 
listening  to  the  sailors'  talk,  or  begging  sous  and  lumps 
of  sugar  of  strangers  at  the  inns,  —  trading  cleverly  upon 
their  pity  for  his  misshapen  Mttle  person,  or  oppos- 
ing his  uncanny  slyness  to  the  brute  force  of  the  other 
boys. 

If  her  father  was  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  a  bad 
carouse,  Guenn  was  wise  enough  to  be  out  of  his  way 
when  he  waked ;  and  for  this  she  had  her  good  and 
suflflcient  reasons.  So,  like  Rodellec  and  little  Nannie, 
the  young  girl  regarded  her  home  as  a  mere  sleeping- 
place  nights,  to  leave  by  da}^  as  early  as  possible.  Then 
often  she  was  employed  in  M.  Morot's  usine,  and  sat 
in  the  long  room,  with  the  best  workwomen,  packing 
sardines  with  swift,  accustomed  touch.  Being  clever, 
bold,  and  shrewd,  she  was  often,  indeed,  one  of  his 
buyers. 

But  these  occupations  were  as  fluctuating  as  the  wind 
and  weather  which  caused  the  greater  or  smaller  catch. 
Some  days  the  boats  came  in  so  loaded  that  every 
available  woman  in  Plouvenec  was  summoned  to  work* 

3 


84  GUENN. 

if  need  be,  all  night  long.  Monsieur  Morot  was,  so  far 
as  business  allowed,  a  kind  man,  and  liked  to  excuse 
the  3'ounger  girls  from  the  wearisome  night- work ;  but 
Guenn  was  strong  and  ambitious,  and  when  they  told 
her  she  was  too  small  and  3'oung,  she  would  laugh,  and 
gayly  remain  at  her  post. 

Then,  other  da3's,  the  great  usines  were  empty,  and 
the  women  were  free  to  knit  and  gossip  and  walk  the 
streets  and  sit  on  the  wall  on  the  beach,  as  they 
pleased.  They  were  paid,  not  by  the  da}^  or  hour,  but 
by  the  number  of  hundred  fish  packed,  and  were  all 
at  the  orders  of  Monsieur  Morot,  or  an}^  other  person 
to  whom  they  were  engaged,  for  an^^  hour,  da}'  or  night. 

This  late  September  morning  the  boats  were  all  out 
far  be3'ond  the  Lannions,  —  au  large ^  as  the  fishermen 
would  sa3\  The  warm  sunshine  streamed  through  hazy 
autumn  air,  upon  fields  of  purple  heather  and  waving 
buckwheat,  smoky  broom  and  shadow3'  flax ;  upon 
apple-trees  and  mistletoe,  and  massive  granite  walls, 
overgrown  with  a  riotous  tangle  of  rich  moss,  tall 
ferns,  iv3^,  holl3%  and  blackberr3'-vines ;  and  upon  the 
thick  row  of  great  oak-trunks  growing  along  the  wall, 
shorn  of  their  glor3',  yet  still  asserting  their  abso- 
lute monarch3^,  holding  up  bravel3'  to  the  world 
their  crowns  of  meagre  foliage,  —  the  best  their  stout 
hearts  could  produce,  to  cover  the  loss  of  the  mighty 
branches  gone.  And  the  sunshine  fell  strongly  too  on 
Guenn  Rodellec's  strange,  dark,  little,  Breton  home, 
built  of  upright  blocks  of  granite,  —  ancient  and  sombre 
as  the  Druid  stone,  the  menhir,  in  the  field  near  b3^  — 
one  narrow  window  in  the  thick  waU,  through  which  a 
feeble  ra3'  of  light  penetrated,  disclosing  the  earthen 
floor,  the  great  fireplace  with  a  few  coals  smouldering 
o«  the  hearth,  and  in  the  gloom  of  the  chimney-corner. 


GUENN.  35 

the  great  ancestral  walnut  bed, — the  lit  clos,  —  three 
stories  high,  where  Herve  Rodellec  was  sleeping  out 
his  drunken  sleep. 

In  one  corner  was*  an  old  oaken  armoire,  with  silver 
locks  and  hinges.  In  another  stood  a  black-oaken 
table,  with  a  bench  on  either  side.  There  was  a  benth 
too  by  the  bed,  the  inevitable  oaken  bench  seen  in  every 
cottage,  and  inseparably  connected  with  simple  Breton 
life  —  its  births,  its  deaths,  its  homely  joys,  and  merry- 
makings. The  dignity  of  age  in  the  few  pieces  of  rich 
wood,  with  their  primitive  but  good  carving,  contrasted 
with  the  otherwise  bare  details  of  the  sordid  interior. 
The  house  was  cheerless  and  dark,  since  in  the  old 
days  granite  was  everywhere  present,  as  was  war  ;  and 
thick  walls,  with  small  loop-holes,  were  a  protection 
against  the  foe, — whether  it  were  heat,  cold,  or  man's 
cruelty.  Then,  in  a  land  where  Druid  priests  once 
chanted  their  songs  of  praise  and  offered  sacrifices  to 
the  sun-god,  the  seigneurs  later,  with  fine  but  uncon- 
scious irony,  taxed  the  peasant's  windows. 

Guenn  this  morning  had  mechanicall}^  pushed  a  little 
pot  of  buckwheat-porridge  nearer  the  smouldering  em- 
bers, completed  her  toilette,  by  putting  on  her  faded  red 
kerchief  and  faded  blue  apron,  —  and  the  snowy  coiffe, 
with  its  substrata  of  skull-caps,  between  which,  tress 
by  tress,  she  laid  her  beautiful  hair.  All  this  compli- 
cated process  took  place  by  means  of  deft  little  pats 
and  strokes,  without  a  hairpin  or  a  mirror,  Guenn 
having  and  desiring  neither  one  nor  the  other.  Then, 
singing  the  refrain  of  a  light  and  amorous  ditty,  —  which 
had  no  more  meaning  or  importance  to  her  than  the 
stupor  of  her  drunken  father,  —  she  sprang  blithely  into 
the  sunshine,  her  basket  of  clothes  on  her  head. 

With  her  free,  long  steps  she  went  rapidly  down  the 


36  GUENN. 

eunuy  road,  between  the  massive  feid-covered  walls  and 
mutilated  giant  oaks.  The  breeze  called  out  all  the 
warmth  of  her  3'oung  cheeks.  Her  clear,  bold  e3'es 
searched  the  whole  landscape.  She  turned  down  one 
of  the  narrow  shady  lanes  so  common  in  Brittan}',  —  a 
chemin  creux,  loveliest  of  forest  paths,  cool,  fragrant, 
silent,  delicious  ;  its  smooth  stepping-stones  and  undu- 
lating surface  worn  down  far  below  the  level  of  the 
woods,  by  the  tread  of  toiling  feet  through  centuries ; 
rude  walls,  bearing  a  wealth  of  ivy,  honeysuckle,  and 
ferns ;  sunlight  flickering  on  golden-green  moss,  and, 
to-day,  upon  the  pale  russet  of  the  first  dead  leaves. 
Guenn  sprang  lightly  and  swiftly  from  one  stepping- 
stone,  irregularly  placed  in  the  boggy  soil,  to  another, 
rarel}^  lifting  her  hand  to  steady  her  basket,  and  sing- 
ing all  the  time,  with  her  innocent  voice,  her  very 
wicked  little  song. 

Rodellec's  house  was  on  a  lonely  road,  somewhat 
remote  from  the  village.  Guenn,  this  morning,  arrived 
late  at  the  assembly  of  her  peers.  The  women  were  in 
full  force,  already  hard  at  work,  —  kneeling  in  their 
boxes,  which  rested  on  smooth  flat  stones  fairly  in  the 
water,  soaping,  dipping  their  linen,  and  pounding  it  on 
the  stones  with  heavy  little  wooden  paddles,  —  all  chat- 
tering at  once,  and  exchanging  volleys  of  what  else- 
where would  be  termed  insult  and  vituperation,  but 
which,  in  Plouvenec,  seemed  to  represent  a  certain  form 
of  the  amenities  of  life.  The  broad,  shallow  stream  was 
caught  and  made  into  a  pool  by  a  heap  of  large  stones, 
through  and  over  which  it  oozed  out,  and  lost  itself  in 
the  sands.  Beyond  the  dunes  lay  the  meadows.  On 
the  Plouvenec  side  were  walled  fields,  —  oak  torsos  and 
rich  vines  growing  from  the  granite.  On  the  opposite 
gide,  across  the  white  beach,  rose  great  crags.     It  was 


GUENN.  37 

a  free  and  beautiful  spot,  filled  with  sunshine  and  sea- 
breezes. 

Guenn  came  springing  down  the  bank.  She  observed 
with  delight  that  old  Mother  Nives  and  other  veterans 
were  present,  a  sure  indication  of  a  lively  morning. 
Jeanne  Ronan  too,  whom  Guenn  liked,  was  there. 

*'  There's  Guenn  !  "  cried  some  of  the  younger 
girls. 

"  Oh,  you  're  a  nice  lot,  you  are  !  "  was  Mademoiselle 
Rodellec's  courteous  morning  salutation,  her  hands  on 
her  hips,  a  light  smile  of  conscious  power,  like  that  of  a 
famed  gladiator  entering  the  arena,  playing  about  her 
mouth.  "  You  could  n't  any  of  you  take  a  little  more 
room,  could  you,  or  a  few  more  of  the  best  places  at 
once  ?  Modest,  you  are !  Move  your  things  over, 
Marie,  and  be  quick  about  it  too.  I'm  coming  there 
by  Jeanne." 

Marie  grumbled,  that  people  who  came  late  better 
take  what  was  left,  upon  which  Guenn  unceremoniously 
pushed  the  girl's  basket  aside,  tossed  her  box  and  loose 
clothes  in  various  directions,  and  coolly  usurped  the 
desired  position. 

Having  made  this  triumphant  entrance,  she  plunged 
into  her  work,  saying  in  an  undertone:  '' What's  in 
the  wind  ?     Anything  new  ?  " 

"  Mother  Nives's  rheumatism  has  left  her.  She 's  got 
five  weeks'  cooped-up  hatefulness  to  let  out." 

*'I  thought  I  smelt  fire  and  brimstone,"  laughed 
Guenn. 

"  Are  you  two  little  fools  gabbling  about  me  ?  "  called 
an  ugly  old  woman  in  a  dark-red  petticoat,  from  the 
opposite  side  of  the  pool. 

"  Oh,  no,  Madame  Nives,"  Jeanne  answered  blandly 
"  I  was  only  asking  Guenn  why  she 's  so  lazy  to-day/ 


38  GUENN. 

Mother  Nives  glared  suspiciously  at  the  two  roguish 
faces. 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere  !  " 

sang  Guenn,  beating  time  vigorously  with  her  paddle 
on  the  stones,  and  smiling  audaciously  at  the  enem3^ 

"  H'm  !  "  sneered  Mother  Nives.  "Your  life  is  likely 
to  be  bitter  enough.  Just  keep  on  with  your  monkej'- 
tricks,  and  I  can  tell  you  where  they  '11  lead  j^ou,  Guenn 
Rodellec ! " 

"Madame  Nives  knows,  because  she's  been  there 
herself,"  interposed  Mother  Quaper's  strident  tones, 
advancing  to  the  fraj^  not  in  the  least  on  Guenn's 
account,  but  because  she  never  declined  the  pleasure 
of  a  little  round  with  Mother  Nives,  with  whom,  how- 
ever, she  was  by  no  means  on  bad  terms,  as  Plouvenec 
neighbors  go. 

"Been  where,  Madame  Quaper?"  demanded  the  old 
woman,  with  dangerous  suavity.  "I've  been  about 
my  own  business,  which  is  where  3"ou  never  were  j^et, 
Madame  Quaper  Yo\x  wash  your  clothes  and  I  will 
wash  mine,  Madame  Quaper,  or  one  of  us  will  be 
missed  by  the  river  for  several  to-morrows,  Madame 
Quaper." 

This  was  considered  by  the  listeners  one  of  Mother 
Nives's  best  efforts,  the  veiled  suggestion  of  personal 
violence  being  particular!}^  admired.  But  Mother  Qua- 
per, upon  whom  all  eyes  were  now  turned,  was  equal  to 
the  occasion. 

"  Madame  Nives  means  that  the  judge  of  the  peace 
is  going  to  lock  her  up  in  good  earnest,  this  time,  as  a 
public  nuisance,"  she  exclaimed.  The  repartee,  based 
on  historical  fact,  caused  laughter  and  cries  of  delight. 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere  !  " 


GUENN.  39 

Guenn  and  Jeanne,  bending  over  the  water,  dipped 
and  sang  in  unison,  laughing  maUciously. 

"  The  judge  is  a  fool,"  remarked  Mother  Mves,  dis- 
creetly introducing  a  new  theme.  "He  would  tr}^  to 
make  you  believe  a  sardine  is  a  mackerel." 

"  And  his  smile  is  as  oily  as  both  of  them,"  observed 
another  woman. 

' '  The  bon  homme  blows  hot  and  cold,  and  north  and 
south,  at  a  blast,"  said  Mother  Quaper. 

"  Because  he's  a  coward,"  added  Guenn  scornfullj^ 

"Did  you  hear  what  he  did  about  the  Fouesnant 
pig  ?  "  asked  a  large  blond  woman,  who  had  been  spread- 
ing her  wash  out  to  dr}^  and  now  stood  at  her  ease, 
looking  down  upon  her  kneeling  sisters. 

"No,  tell  us,  Nona!" 

"Yes,  we  should  like  to  hear  what  one  pig  did 
with  the  other,"  Mother  Nives  said,  in  her  delicatelj^ 
humorous  manner. 

"  The  pig  was  in  a  flax-field.  A  man  drove  him  out. 
Somehow  the  man  broke  the  pig's  leg.  It  was  his 
neighbor's  pig,  you  see.  They  quarrelled  about  it  well, 
and  came  to  blows.  They  were  only  stupid  peasants, 
and  —  " 

Nona  was  here  inten^upted  by  angr}^  remonstrances 
from  the  women  who  represented  the  purely  peasant 
element,  in  contradistinction  to  the  sailor  and  fisher 
population. 

"You  idiots,  hold  j'our  tongues!"  roared  mighty 
Mother  Nives,  rising  to  quell  the  tumult. 

"  Let  Nona  tell  her  j^arn,"  thundered  Mother  Quaper, 
waving  her  paddle  majestically. 

Before  the  allied  forces  of  the  two  most  puissant 
fish- wives,  the  peasant  insurrection  subsided  in  murmurs 
of  discontent. 


40  GUENN, 

*'  I  sa}^  —  I,  myself —  that  they  were  stupid  peasants, 
and  came  to  blows,"  resumed  Nona,  doggedly.  "But 
trying  to  break  each  other's  skulls  did  not  seem  to  mend 
piggy's  leg.  So  the}^  came  over  to  Plouvenec,  before 
monsieur  the  judge,  and  he  told  them  they  were  both 
very  fine  fellows  and  clever  fellows,  and  they  'd  better 
go  back  to  Fouesnant,  to  think  about  it  ten  days  and  see 
if  they  could  n't  arrange  matters.  They  went  back,  and 
thought  and  thought,  but  it  did  no  good.  After  the  ten 
daj^s,  they  camiB  back  to  the  judge.  What  did  he  do 
but  sa}^  that  they  were  fine  fellows,  clever  fellows,  and 
that  piggy  must  be  killed ;  the  man  who  broke  its  leg 
should  buy  it,  and  their  next-door  neighbor,  who  is  also 
a  fine,  clever  fellow,  should  decide  the  weight  and  the 
price?  Ever3^body's  satisfied,  and  the  judge  makes 
no  ill-will.  He  smiles  ;  they  smile  ;  the  neighbor  smiles. 
And  so,  good-day  to  you ! "  Nona  walked  briskly 
away,  across  the  dunes. 

"The  judge  is  hand  and  glove  with  all  the  strangers 
and  artists.  They  are  mostly  brainless  chaps,  to  be 
sure.  They  don't  see  through  him."  Mother  Quaper 
shook  out  a  bathing-towel. 

• '  Brainless  !  It 's  a  wonder  they  don't  all  fall  ofi"  the 
digue,"  Mother  Nives  added  acrimoniously. 

"  Now  this  young  gentleman,"  and  Mother  Quaper 
held  up  a  shirt  to  general  inspection,  gazing  at  it 
meditatively,  with  an  "Alas,  poorYorick"  air,  "this 
poor  little  dear  Monsieur  Staunton,"  —  she  looked  as 
if  she  were  beholding  Staunton  in  person,  instead 
of  his  innocent  garment,  —  "a  good-looking  gars  to 
be  sure,  and  the  finest  of  linen.  Eich  as  a  duke, 
most  likely  ;  gave  my  Kadoc  ten  sous  j^esterday.  Well, 
as  I  was  saying,  mj^  neighbors  sold  him  some  old 
sails  for  his  studio, — the  Lord  above  knows  what  he 


GUENN.  41 

wants  of  them,  seeing  as  he  can't  sail  his  studio  on 
the  bay  — " 

"  Window-curtains,  and  such,"  called  out  Jeanne 
Ronan,  instructive!}-. 

"  Curtains  or  fiddlesticks,  for  all  o'  me  ;  but  they  made 
him  pay  twice  as  much  as  the  very  best  brand-new  ones 
are  worth.  I  heard  it  all.  How  I  laughed !  If  they 
hadn't  been  neighbors,  you  know,  and  old  friends, 
I'd  have  given  him  a  wink.  Such  a  good-looking 
gars  as  he  is,  ce  cher  petit  Staunton ! "  Down  went 
Mr.  Staunton's  shirt  in  the  water  with  eclat. 

"  Well  now,  nobody  can  tell  anything  about  messieurs 
les  artistes,"  and  little  Jeanne  raised  her  voice  with 
conviction.  She  wao  a  model,  and  knew  what  she  was 
talking  about.  "  Perhaps  he  was  n't  cheated,  after  all. 
If  the  sails  looked  old  and  rusty  and  faded  and  dirty  and 
patched  and  stained  —  wh}',  he  liked  them  better  than 
new  ones.  He  wanted  to  pay  more  for  them.  Here  is 
my  kerchief.  It  was  a  beauty  once,"  —  glancing  down 
at  it  regretfull)^  •' You  remember,  Guenn?  I  bought 
it  at  the  Beuzec  Pardon."  Guenn  nodded  assent.  ' '  The 
spots  were  bright  blue,  and  the  stripes  were  bright  red, 
and  the  criss-cross  lines  were  green  and  yellow.  Now, 
what  do  you  think  ?  Mr.  Staunton  would  n't  paint  it ;  — 
would  n't  so  much  as  look  at  it,  until  the  colors  had  all 
run  together  and  it  was  dirt}-.  He  said  it  made  his  eyes 
ache.     He  called  it  hard." 

"  A  cotton  kerchief  hard  !  "  screamed  the  women  in 
derision. 

"That's  what  he  said;  and  now,  when  I  don't  like 
it  any  more,  and  put  on  my  new  one,  he  sends  me  home 
every  time  I  come  without  it.  There  was  a  yellow  cash- 
mere baby-blanket  little  Helene  had.  All  the  artists 
called  it   a  glory.     They  hung  it  in  the  sun  and  they 


42  GUENN. 

hung  it  in  the  shadow,  and  upside-down  and  wrong-sidd 
out.     It  had  a  big  darn,  but  it  was  a  gloiy  all  the  same." 

"  A  gloiy,  a  gloiy  !  "  laughed  the  chorus.  "  Oh,  mon 
dieu,  a  glory  !  " 

"And  so  I  say  jom  can't  tell  anything  about 
them,  because  the}"  are  different,"  concluded  Jeanne 
philosophically. 

' '  Because  they  are  idiots  !  "  was  Mother  Nives's 
acrid  amendment.  "  And  as  for  your  prett}'  gars,  with 
his  fine  Unen,  he  owes  his  carpenter's  bill,  let  me  tell 
you  that.     Who  knows  but  he 's  only  show  rich  ?  " 

"  And  this  much  I  can  say,"  began  the  heavy  peasant- 
girl  Marie,  several  times  pushed  aside  as  of  no  impor- 
tance, and  glad  now  to  swim  with  the  current,  "  since 
Nona  Hevin  has  been  posing  for  him,  she  has  n't  a 
decent  word  in  her  mouth  for  anj'body.  My  grand- 
mother says  it  does  n't  bode  much  good  to  girls  when 
they  get  their  heads  turned  by  the  artists.  They  are  no 
better  than  they  should  be,  the  most  of  'em.  What 
happened  to  Yvonne,  and  whose  fault  was  it  but  an 
artist's?  Though  my  grandmother  does  sa}"  she  was 
always  a  silly,  vain  thing,  herself.  And  as  for  Nona 
Hevin,  with  her  airs,"  —  shaking  her  head  significantly, 
—  "we  shall  see  !  " 

Jeanne  looked  up  angrily ;  but  Guenn  sprang  to  her 
feet,  and  with  uncompromising  directness  exclaimed 
hotly:  "And  why  didn't  you  say  all  that  when  Nona 
was  here?  Because  jow  did  not  dare,  Marie  Brenn ! 
And  it 's  a  great  deal  you  know  about  models  and  paint- 
ers !  Only  you  know  very  well  nobody  wants  to  paint 
your  ugly  frog  face,  and  that  makes  3'ou  say  mean  things 
about  the  pretty  girls.  Nona  is  as  good  a  girl  as  there 
is  in  Plouvenec,  and  Jeanne  is  the  very  best  one.  You  'd 
better  not  say  anything  more  about  models  ! " 


GUENN.  43 

*'The  blessed  Virgin  forbid  that  I  should  be  one," 
persisted  Marie  piously  ;  "  and  whether  Jeanne  likes  it 
or  not,  my  grandmother  says,  in  Paris,  models  don't 
wear  clothes.     So  there,  Guenn  Rodellec  !  " 

Ejaculations  of  unspeakable  astonishment  followed 
this  statement.  Guenn's  own  amazement  was  bound- 
less, but  she  would  have  died  rather  than  betray  it,  or 
let  it  be  even  faintly  surmised  that  Marie  Brenn  could 
give  her  the  least  information  upon  any  point  whatever. 

''  Well,  who  doesn't  know  that?"  she  retorted,  star- 
ing haughtily  at  Marie,  without  the  quiver  of  an  eye- 
lash. "  Perhaps  3^ou  and  your  grandma  had  better  set 
up  a  school  to  teach  the  rest  of  us  our  A  B  C's.  Does  n't 
everybody  know  there  are  black,  heathen  people  in  Africa 
and  Italy,  and  such  out-of-the-way  places?  They  don't 
wear  clothes,  because  "  —  hesitating  a  perceptible  in- 
stant, then,  with  laudable  aplomb,  concluding  —  "they 
haven't  got  any  to  wear.  They  wear  skins  of  ani- 
mals, and  such  things.  They  climb  trees  and  eat 
roots."  she  added,  in  a  superior  but  somewhat  vague 
manner.  Descending  from  these  heights  of  knowledge 
to  her  own  territory,  she  advanced  with  splendid  rapid- 
ity. "But  I'll  tell  you  what,  Marie  Brenn, — even  if 
fleathen  don't  know  much,  they  can't  be  worse  than 
you,  saying  behind  a  girl's  back  what  you  don't  dare 
say  to  her  face,  and  giving  a  dead  girl  a  mean  hit,  too ! 
As  if  it  was  n't  enough  for  poor  Yvonne  to  drown  her- 
self and  die,  and  her  soul  on  a  wave  beating  against 
the  cliff  every  night !  " 

Guenn  and  all  the  women  gave  an  involuntary  glance 
at  the  towering  crag,  and  crossed  themselves.  Marie, 
crushed  by  the  weight  of  so  much  learning,  after  a 
little  pause  retorted  sullenly:  "Well,  you  never  posed 
Vourself,  Guenn  Rodellec ! " 


44  GUENN. 

"  Well,  I  never  did,"  Gnenn  said  mockingly. 

"But  they  all  want  her,"  cried  Jeanne  eagerly. 
*'  Monsieur  Staunton,  Monsieur  Douglas,  the  French 
painters,  the  new  one,  —  every bod}^  wants  Guenn, 
everybody !     Only  she  won't  come." 

Guenn  tossed  her  pretty  head.  "  Why  should  I  stand 
still,  with  a  water-jug  in  my  hand,  eight  mortal  hours, 
like  you,  Jeanne  ?  I  should  throw  the  jug  at  the  idiot 
and  run  awa}^  But  if  it  amuses  you  !  "  —  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders  and  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  like  it  well  enough,"  Jeanne  admitted  cheerily. 
"  I  must  say,  it 's  better  fun  than  the  usine.  They  let  3'ou 
rest.  But  they  are  a  queer  set,  and  no  mistake.  Mon- 
sieur Douglas  painted  old  Josephe  with  her  distaff  in  the 
wrong  hand.  I  went  into  fits  of  laughter  ever}^  time 
^  saw  it.  He  was  at  it  six  weeks.  All  the  painters 
stood  in  front  of  it  and  told  him  how  beautiful  it  was, 
and  cackled  like  so  many  geese.  One  morning  he  said : 
'Jeanne,  you  will  tell  me  how  you  like  my  picture;'" 
wickedly  imitating  Mr.  Douglas's  solemn  British-French. 
"  '  Oh,'  said  I,  '  if  it  pleases  monsieur  —  Josephe's  nose 
is  shorter,  and  her  eyes  are  squinter,  but  so  ugly  as  the 
picture  she  never  was  ;  and  O  monsieui*,  — the  distaff  is 
in  the  wrong  hand  ! ' " 

"But  what  made  Josephe  hold  her  distaff  wrong?" 
demanded  half-a-dozen  voices  in  amazement. 

"As  if  Josephe  cares  ! "  began  Guenn  contemptuously. 
"  These  painters  are  all  mad,  you  know.  Jeanne's 
Monsieur  Staunton  kneels  down  and  says  his  prayers 
to  a  mud-puddle,  with  a  bit  of  light  shining  in  it.  Mon- 
sieur Douglas  picks  up  a  fish-head  on  the  road,  and  looks 
at  it  as  if  he  was  the  cure  reading  his  breviary.  If  they 
had  told  Josephe  to  coiffer  her  distaff,  and  wear  her  sa- 
bots on  her  head,  she  'd  have  done  it  all  the  same.     Oh|_ 


GUENN.  45 

many 's  the  time  I  Ve  watched  Jeanne  through  the  gate, 
and  Monsieur  Douglas  standing  so,"  —  giving  a  dra- 
matic representation  of  Mr.  Douglas's  manner  and  atti- 
tude. "'Raise  your  left  eyebrow,  Jeanne.  Draw 
your  foot  back.  Breathe  quite  easil3\  Head  to  the 
right.  Ej^es  to  the  left.  Ah,  charming  !  Now  we  will 
begin.'  Then,  after  a  couple  of  hours,  'Rest.  Be- 
gin —  Rest.'  And  so  on  all  day.  —  '  Here  is  your 
mone3^  Come  to-morrow  at  eight.'  —  Allons  done,  do 
you  suppose  I  'd  put  up  with  that  ?  Am  I  a  stick  or  a 
stone,  or  a  trained  poodle  at  the  fair?  '  Give  your  paw, 
Guenn.  Sit  up  and  beg,  Guenn.'  No  —  no  —  no  !  " 
And  raising  her  arms  high  above  her  head,  with  a  swing 
of  her  lithe  body  expressive  of  the  joys  of  savage  free- 
dom, Guenn  resumed  her  duties  as  independent  wash- 
erwoman, with  a  clear  and  sweet  — 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere !  " 

Jeanne  laughed  merrily  with  the  others. 

"Oh  yes,  Guenn  is  hoit^^-toity  enough,"  sneered 
Mother  Nives.  "  But  the  young  fellow  who  saw  all  her 
hair  loose  may  see  it  again.  Sainte  Anne  d  'Auray  ! 
Was  n't  the  girl  a  sight,  when  milord  the  painter  was 
looking  at  her  ?  " 

"  Who  cares  about  him !  "  Guenn  exclaimed  quickly, 
with  heightened  color. 

"  I  saw  him  coming,"  the  old  woman  went  on,  giving 
a  mysterious  leer.  "In  the  candle  I  saw  a  stranger,  che 
night  before  he  came.  I  named  three  bits  of  straw,  for 
you  and  Jeanne  and  Nona ;  when  I  blew,  Jeanne  and 
Nona  flew  over,  but  you  fell  into  the  flame." 

Guenn,  with  a  defiant  toss  of  her  head  and  a  deeper 
flush,  retorted :  "Keep  your  candle-fortunes  for  your- 
self, Madame  Nives  ; "    but  she  was  uneasy  nevertho* 


46  GUENN. 

less.  Had  not  she  herself,  the  very  day  she  saw  him 
on  the  sands,  heard  —  alone  at  home  —  a  loud  noise 
three  times  repeated,  as  if  the  old  armoire  was  trying 
to  speak?  Everybody  knows  that  means  misfortune. 
And  did  not  a  little  gray  bird  fly  more  than  once  in  her 
path  as  she  came  through  the  woods,  —  quite  fearless, 
though  she  was  so  near,  and  looking  at  her  sti-angely  with 
its  little  round  eyes  ?  She  knew  well  what  soul  had  re- 
turned in  the  form  of  a  bird,  to  warn  her  of  impending 
evil.  Then,  when  madame,  at  the  Voyageurs,  asked 
her  to  pour  out  a  glass  of  wine  in  the  kitchen,  she 
had  spilled  it  on  a  white  napkin.     More  misfortune  ! 

All  that  in  a  couple  of  hours.  Guenn  had  felt  op- 
pressed by  these  evil  signs,  but  had  put  them  out  of 
her  mind  as  soon  as  possible.  Now  old  Mother  Nives 
reminded  her  of  her  forebodings.  Well,  was  it  not  mis- 
fortune enough  to  stand  there  with  her  hair  hanging 
down,  before  a  man,  and  to  have  them  play  her  such  a 
mean  trick?  She  never  believed  more  than  half  of  any- 
thing the  Xives  said  ;  still  — 

That  amiable  person,  observing  that  she  had  acciden- 
tally said  something  which  disturbed  the  3'oung  girl, 
continued  venomously  :  "  You  mark  my  words,  you  'U 
be  posing  like  a  lamb  before  long.  He  didn't  lose 
much  time  with  your  father  that  night.  He's  a  cool 
one.     He  can  put  out  firebrands." 

Again  Guenn  was  lost  in  uneasy  thought.  She  re- 
membered, against  her  will,  every  feature  of  the  stran- 
ger's face,  as  he  calmly  looked  on  her  sorry  plight,  and 
as  calmly  afterwards  restrained  her  father's  drunken 
imj.  Jeanne  anxiously  pulled  her  friend's  sleeve.  What 
could  be  the  matter?  Guenn,  whose  tongue  never  faUed 
her,  was  surely  not  going  to  be  beaten  pubhcly  by  the 
Nivea, 


GUENN.  47 

But  Gruenn  rallied.  "If  he  ever  comes  to  me,"  she 
said  impudently,  "I'll  send  him  to  paint  you  and 
Loic." 

Now  Madame  Nives  and  her  son  Loic  were,  even  ac- 
cording to  the  unexacting  Plouvenec  standard,  the  ugli- 
est people  in  existence  ;  moreover  Loic,  like  many  an- 
other young  man,  sighed  in  vain  for  Guenn  Rodellec. 

The  mercurial  chorus  shouted  with  glee. 

"You  minx!"  cried  Mother  Nives  in  a  fine  rage. 
"But  I  dare  you  to  swear  you  won't  be  his  model.  Yoa 
will,  I  know  you  will." 

"  Well  now,  I  don't  intend  to  be  driven  by  anybody,'* 
Guenn  returned  stoutly.  "I  won't  say  yes  to  please 
him,  or  no  to  please  you." 

"What's  the  man's  name,  any-way?"  demanded 
Mother  Nives. 

"  Hamor,"  replied  several  women,  who  frequented  the 
Voyageurs  kitchen. 

"  Madame,  at  the  Voyageurs,  has  him  in  tow?  " 

"  And  he  can  be  thankful  if  she  has.  Ah,  what  a 
brave  femme !  She  never  gets  into  a  rage,  and  calls 
bad  names,"  exclaimed  Guenn,  whose  specialty  was 
rages  and  bad  names,  —  "  and  strong  as  a  man.  A  man 
indeed,"  —  with  high  disdain,  —  "what  are  men?  — 
Strong  as  a  lion  !  " 

"  It 's  easy  enough  to  be  a  brave  femme  with  an  inn 
like  hers,  and  a  good  business,  and  nothing  to  do  but  to 
smile  at  the  men  ;  "  and  Mother  Nives  looked  about  with 
an  evil  sneer.  Madame  was  a  favorite ;  still,  this  pic- 
ture of  worldly  bliss  tried  the  souls  of  the  women. 
"Well,  that's  true  enough,  and  no  mistake,"  many  of 
them  cried  enviously.  "  She  does  have  an  easy  time 
of  it."  But  Mother  Quaper,  Guenn,  and  Jeanne 
lau2;hed  in  loud  derision. 


48  GUENN. 

*'  O  you  poor  sillies  !  "  Guenn  said,  shaking  her  head 
with  mocking  commiseration.  "  Don't  you  know  ma- 
dame's  little  finger  is  wiser  than  the  whole  of  your 
stupid  bodies  ?  There 's  nothing  she  can't  do.  There 's 
nothing  she  doesn't  do.  And  with  shoals  of  people 
about,  making  a  pow-wow  and  all  wanting  her  at  once, 
she  looks  as  strong  and  still  as  a  menhir  in  a  thunder 
storm.  How  I  'd  like  to  see  3'ou  all  having  her  easy  timti. 
at  the  Voyageurs  !  "  She  threw  back  her  head,  with  het 
pretty  mocking  laugh.     "  Marie  could  keep  the  books'^ 

—  dull  Marie  being  hardly  capable  of  counting  fish. 
*'Elise"  —  another  especially  inefficient  young  woman 

—  "  could  look  after  the  cooking  and  marketing  and 
gardens.  Louise  "  —  a  careless,  tattered  girl  —  "  could 
take  care  of  the  linen  and  mending.  And  Madame 
Nives,  because  she  is  so  gentle  and  everjbody  loves 
her,  could  keep  the  maids  all  moving  smoothly,  and 
smile  at  the  gentlemen.  Oh  yes,  —  oh  yes.  How  nice 
it  would  be  then  at  the  Vo3^ageurs." 

This  bit  of  special  malice  created  considerable  uproar 
and  angry  retort,  when  Madame  Nives,  with  an  eye  to 
business,  inquired  :  "  Is  the  new  one  rich?" 

"Yes,"  answered  several  girls.  "He  throws  his 
sous  about  like  water.  All  the  boys  were  jumping  for 
him  on  the  common  last  night.  And  he  smokes  no  end 
of  cigarettes." 

"Who's  to  have  his  wash?"  continued  Mother 
Mves. 

"  Madame  Quaper,  if  3'ou  are  sure  you  don't  mind  at 
all,"  answered  Guenn  wickedlj'. 

"Is  it  your  doing?"  the  old  woman  said  with  an 
oath. 

"  Never  you  mind  her  nasty  temper,  Guenn,"  roared 
Mother  Quaper. 


GUENN.  49 

**My  temper  ain't  so  nasty  as  my  fist,  Madame 
Quaper,  and  don't  you  forget  that !  " 

"  Well  now,  I  never  beard  anj^thing  so  kind  of  awe- 
inspiring  ; "  and  Mother  Quaper's  hoarse  voice  broke 
into  unmelodious  laughter.  "  It  makes  me  have  the  — 
what  is  it,  Jeanne  ?  You  ought  to  know  !  What  is  it 
that  the  fine  ladies  have  ?  You  see  them  when  they 
come  to  look  at  the  pictures." 

*'They  don't  have  anything  particular,  except  the 
giggles,"  Jeanne  answered,  reflectively.  "They  seem 
to  giggle  mostly." 

"  There  's  a  woman  at  the  Voyageurs  with  the  nerves," 
suggested  Guenn  gravely  ;  "  madame  told  me  so." 

"That's  it,"  cried  Mother  Quaper,  with  exultation. 
"  Guenn,  you  were  always  the  brightest  girl !  The 
nerves.  That's  what  I  mean.  Well  now,  Madame 
Nives,  that's  what  I'm  taken  with,  sudden,  when 
you  talk  so  painful.  Where  do  they  have  them  ?  " 
she  asked  Guenn  in  an  eager  whisper. 

Guenn  looked  doubtful.  "  All  over,  I  suppose. 
They  run  down  the  spine  of  your  back,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  I  must  say  j^ou've  got  a  lot  of  learning,  Guenn," 
Mother  Quaper  said  admiringly.  "Madame  Nives, 
I  've  got  the  nerves  in  the  spine  of  my  back,  and  —  " 

"  Bah  —  that 's  rheumatism,"  retorted  Mother  Nives, 
"  and  the  bon  dieu  himself  can't  tell  me  anything  about 
that !  Nerves  indeed,  Madame  Quaper  !  There 's  no 
such  thing ;  and  if  there  is,  it  is  n't  for  such  as  you 
and  me." 

"Oh,  but  there  is,  and  I've  got  them!"  persisted 
Madame  Quaper,  with  a  grin  of  delight. 

"  There 's  Morot's  boat !  "  Guenn  sprang  eagerly  up, 
shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"  And  what  if  it  is  ?  "  grumbled  Mother  Nives.     "  1% 

4 


60  GUENN. 

that  anjiihing  new  ?  Is  n't  he  always  sailing  and  sailing, 
while  we  are  scrubbing  and  scrubbing.  What  did  he 
ever  do  in  his  life,  but  eat  and  drink  and  sail  and  amuse 
himself,"  snarled  the  bitter  old  fish-wife,  accompanied 
by  murmurs  of  mingled  sympathy  and  dissent.  ' '  Lazy 
puppy,  and  his  father  before  him, — and  his  grandfather, 
that  hanged  himself  in  the  granary."  She  crossed 
herself  furtively.  Every  other  woman  did  the  samCo 
'^  Some  folks  sail,  some  folks  scrub  ;  that's  life.  As  for 
me,  I  would  n't  turn  my  head  a  quarter  of  an  inch  to  see 
Louis  Morot's  boat,  unless  it  was  to  see  it  sink  !  "  The 
old  woman  glared  straight  before  her  at  a  pair  of  blue 
socks,  which  she  wrung  in  a  vindictive  manner. 

Guenn  retorted  angrily,  "What's  the  use  of  13'ing 
all  the  time,  Madame  Nives?  Why  don't  you  stop  and 
rest  once  in  a  while  ?  Answer  me,"  she  said  imperiously, 
addressing  each  and  all.  "  Who  is  the  best  sailor  in 
Plouvenec  ?  Monsieur  Louis.  Whose  boat  goes  out  in 
storms  that  send  all  the  rest  of  them  howling  into  port  ? 
Monsieur  Louis.  And  is  n't  it  his  own  boat?  Then 
who  has  a  better  right  to  sail  it,  I  should  like  to  know. 
Who  gives  smiles  and  francs,  and  one  as  free  as  the 
other?  Monsieur  Louis.  And  how  many  of  our  men 
has  he  saved  at  the  risk  of  his  Ufe,  and  he  only  a  young 
fellow  too  !  And  who  looked  after  Loic  Nives  when  he 
was  down  with  a  broken  leg?  Monsieur  Louis  !  So  I 
don't  think  I  'd  hit  him  behind  his  back,  even  if  I  was 
you,  Madame  Nives  !  " 

"That's  true,  Guenn,"  cried  the  mobile  chorus. 
«'  She  'd  better  keep  still  about  Monsieur  Louis  !  She  'd 
better  hush  up  !  " 

"  And  what  is  he  doing  now?  "  Guenn  waxed  more 
impassioned  with  every  word.  "  He  is  bringing  over  the 
Recteur  of  the  Lannions."     Her  strong  gaze  searched 


GUENN,  51 

the  boat.  "  I  know,  because  I  see.  That's  what  he's 
doing,  good  Monsieur  Louis  !  And  he  could  n't  do  any- 
thing better,  unless  he  should  bring  us  an  angel  from 
heaven ;  for  where  the  Recteur  goes,  comes  a  blessing 
and  a  joy,  as  everybody  knows  who  is  n't  a  knave  or  a 
fool,  or  both.  And  Monsieur  Louis  will  take  him  back 
with  his  supplies,  and  he  's  alwa3^s  looking  out  for  him. 
And  that 's  the  kind  of  man  Monsieur  Louis  Morot  is, 
and  shame  on  anybody  who  says  he  is  n't,  and  she  's  got 
something  still  to  hear  from  Guenn  Rodellec,  and  here 
I  am  ! "  The  girl  stood  with  folded  arms,  her  flaming 
eyes  challenging  them  all. 

"  I  say  he  is  n't."  Mother  Mves's  arms  were  akimbo, 
her  face  was  venomous.  "  I  say  he's  a  dandy  and  a 
do-nothing,  and  if  he  swamps  his  cursed  boat  some  day, 
and  the  precious  pair  drown  together,  I  '11  stand  by  and 
grin.  I  hate  the  father.  I  hate  the  son.  As  for  your 
priest,  there  are  too  many  priests, — too  many  priests. 
He  'd  better  drown,"  —  and  she  laughed  her  croaking 
laugh.  "  Oh,  you  can't  frighten  me  with  your  big  eyes, 
Guenn  Rodellec,  —  shoot  fire  out  of  them  as  you  will. 
What  if  he  did  cure  Nannie's  fever?  Do  you  think 
anybody  but  you  thanked  him  for  that  ?  Ugly,  crooked 
little  brat  —  always  in  the  way  !  " 

"Oh  come  now,  come  now!"  expostulated  the 
women.  Even  the  brutality  of  Plouvenec  had  its 
limits. 

All  the  brightness  faded  from  Guenn' s  face,  and  the 
little  figure  —  so  lightly  poised,  as  she  had  gallantly 
defended  Morot,  and  followed  every  movement  of  his 
boat  —  grew  rigid  with  passion. 

' '  You  old  devil !  "  Ugly  lines  gathered  about  the 
young  mouth  as  it  spoke  the  ugly  words.  "You  say 
another  word  about   Thymert,   or   about  my  brother 


52  GUENN. 

Nannie,"  —  she  spoke  slowty,  with  great  pauses  —  "  3'ou 
understand,  one  word  about  the  Recteur  or  my 
Nannie  —  " 

"  Bo-0-0  I  "  cried  a  shrill  voice.  "  Here  I  am  !  "  and 
the  wizened  face  of  a  humpbacked  child,  with  large  eyes 
like  Guenn's,  and  a  sl^',  unpleasant  smile,  peered  from 
the  bushes  on  the  wall. 

The  women  crossed  themselves.  By  oaks  and  run- 
ning  water,  nains  and  korrigans  might  at  any  time  ap- 
pear. With  many  another  old  Druid  superstition,  this 
was  a  part  of  ever}^  Plouvenec  woman's  secret  belief. 

The  bo}"  came  half-way  down  the  bank  and  seated 
himself,  resting  his  pale  face  on  his  hands,  his  long 
elbows  on  his  knees,  —  motionless,  watchful,  un- 
canny. 

"Who  called  Nannie?  I  was  miles  away,  and  I 
came."  He  made  this  preposterous  statement  solemnly, 
and  as  if  he  were  chanting.  His  keen  eyes  searched 
the  group.  Madame  Nives,  with  a  guilty  air,  was  busily 
washing.  In  spite  of  her  boasts,  she  much  preferred 
giving  to  receiving  curses,  and  had  a  wholesome  dread 
of  the  evil  eye.  The  other  women  were  all  staring  up  at 
him.  "Madame  Nives,"  called  the  cripple,  "it  was 
you  who  said  Nannie.  I  came.  I  will  come  to  3^ou 
again  some  time  at  the  stroke  of  midnight,  when  every 
corpse  stirs  and  opens  its  eyes ! " 

The  color  crept  back  to  Guenn's  cheeks.  The  ugly 
lines  left  her  mouth,  and  the  rigid  extended  arm  fell  by 
her  side.  With  a  beautiful  smile  she  looked  at  Nannie  ; 
then  out  on  the  bay,  where  Morot's  boat  was  just  round- 
ing the  point.  Her  face  grew  tender,  her  great  blue 
eyes  bluer. 

"  Gamin,"  she  said  with  inexpressible  affection, 
*'  wait  for  me." 


GUENN. 


53 


*'  I  am  waiting  for  Jeanne,"  answered  the  boy 
perversely. 

Guenn  laughed.     "  Meme  chose,"  she  said  brightly. 

Spreading  out  what  remained  of  her  linen,  she  gath- 
ered together  her  belongings,  and,  with  Jeanne  and 
Nannie,  walked  along  the  beach. 

"Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere," 
»ang  their  fresh  laughing  voices. 


CHAPTEE  IV 


HE  cure  of  the  Lanmons 
stood  at  the  half-open  door 
of  Rodellec's  cottage  and 
knocked.  Hearing  no  sound 
but  the  rustling  of  the  foli- 
age on  the  dwarfed  oaks,  a 
lizard  darting  along  the  sun- 
ny wall,  and  the  long  plain- 
tive note  of  a  curlew  far  up 
in  the  haz}'  sky,  he  bent  his 
head  and  entered  the  dark 
httle  house.  It  was  as  Guenn  had  left  it  hours  before. 
The  little  pot  of  porridge  stood  untouched  on  the  cold 
hearth,  by  a  heap  of  ashes,  and  the  man  still  slept  in 
his  tomb-like  bed. 

The  cure  sat  down  on  the  bench  by  the  table,  leaned 
his  head  on  his  hand,  looked  scrutinizingly  about  the 
room,  and  sighed  heavily.  Thymert  had  the  face  of  a 
man  of  the  people,  —  dark,  strongly  moulded,  weather- 
beaten,  indicative  of  a  nature  more  used  to  impulsive 
action,  than  to  the  contemplation  of  intellectual  subtle- 
ties. With  the  dignity  of  his  priestly  office  he  com- 
bined the  carelessness  of  the  sailor  ;  while  the  conscious- 
ness of  power,  which  his  unlimited  authority  in  his 
island-realm  lent  to  his  manner,  was  accompanied  by  a 
simplicity  as  perceptible  in  the  strong  man  of  twenty- 


GUENN.  55 

five,  as  long  before  in  the  round-faced  peasant- boy  of 
eight,  whom  the  good  priest  of  Beuzec  employed  as 
acolyte,  — teaching  him  with  much  pains  his  genuflec- 
tions, patient  with  his  blunders  and  rude  ministrations 
in  the  ancient  little  church,  and  finally  leading  him  to 
study  for  the  priesthood.  Ordered  to  the  Lannions,  his 
first  living,  he  had  remained  there  because  his  superiors 
discreetly  concluded  it  would  be  impossible  to  supply 
his  place.  An  ambitious  man  could  not  have  con- 
tented himself  with  this  humble  post,  —  cur^  of  a  hun- 
dred souls :  poor  fishermen,  whose  rude  houses  were 
scattered  here  and  there  on  nine  bleak  islands  ;  who 
knew  birth  and  life  and  death,  sickness  and  health, 
with  the  roar  of  the  mighty  Atlantic  sounding  alwa3'S 
in  their  ears ;  who  heard  no  sound  from  the  mainland, 
though  empires  fell.     But  Th3'mert  was  not  ambitious. 

A  placid  country  pastor  —  making  his  rounds  through 
pleasant  ways,  his  old  nag  sleek  and  well-fed  like  him- 
self, his  duties  small,  his  comfort  great,  his  benevolence 
unquestioned  and  untried  —  might  have  found  himself 
sadl}'  out  of  place,  transplanted  into  the  austerities  of 
Th3Tnert's  life.  But  he  never  moralized  about  his  posi- 
tion. He  was  recteur  of  the  Lannions,  —  and  all  was 
said. 

Priest,  doctor,  comforter  of  the  women,  friend  and 
comrade  of  the  men,  strong  enough  to  stop  a  drunken 
brawl,  not  too  absorbed  in  prayers  and  heavenly  medi- 
tation, to  perceive  when  quarrels  and  feuds  were  about 
to  develop,  — Thymert  was  king  of  his  savage  islands, 
earning  his  kingship.  His  boat  was  moored  before  his 
door  ;  and  at  any  moment,  day  or  night,  —  though  the 
Loch  might  be  half  submerged,  and  the  waves  besieging 
the  fort  on  the  Cigogne  like  an  army,  and  booming 
against  the  great  rocks  of  Penfret,  as  if  in  jealous  effort 


56  GUENN. 

to  reach  the  verj-  top  of  the  lighthouse  tower,  —  careless 
of  storm  and  danger,  he  would  go,  at  any  signal  of  dis- 
tress, to  minister  to  his  people.  Simple,  faithful  soul, 
man  to  the  core  of  his  brave  heart,  the  young  sailor- 
priest  scrupulously  discharged  the  duties  of  his  calling. 
Yet  often  in  the  rude  chapel  on  the  Loch,  whose  rough 
walls  were  adorned  with  votive  offerings  of  ships  and 
glaring  images  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Isles,  mass  was  per- 
formed with  almost  miraculous  speed,  when  the  cure 
had  just  heard  that  some  little  urchin  on  the  last  island 
had  broken  his  leg  ;  and  once,  when  he  was  summoned 
to  old  lame  Jean,  suddenl}'  down  with  a  fever,  he  was 
seen  leaping  impetuously  about  the  chancel  a  few  mo- 
ments, —  then  disappeared  altogether  ;  and  to  this  day, 
the  two  old  crones,  who  were  mumbling  their  prayers 
in  their  accustomed  corner,  cannot  affirm  whether 
monsieur  le  recteur  that  morning  said  matins  or  ves- 
pers, or  nothing  at  all.  But  the}'  liked  him  none  the 
less  for  that,  theii'  impulsive,  warm-hearted  young  cure. 
As  to  Our  Blessed  Lady  of  the  Isles,  it  never  oc- 
curred to  Thymert  to  question  which  would  be  more 
acceptable  to  her,  when  the  choice  lay  between  a 
sonorous  liturgy  in  her  honor,  or  a  manly,  helpful  deed 
to  her  poor  folk. 

'  The  cure  sat  quietly  waiting  in  Eodellec's  small, 
dark  room.  He  instinctively  shrank  from  the  interview 
which  he  was  seeking.  It  was  easier  for  him  to  reef 
a  sail  in  a  gale  of  wind,  than  to  meet  the  exigencies 
of  this  occasion.  Except  under  excitement,  he  was  not 
a  fluent  man.  Words  oppressed  him  at  times.  He  had 
not  much  confidence  in  them,  and  they  were  apt  to 
abandon  him  at  his  need.  A  dumb  soul,  like  that  of  a 
faithful  hound,  sometimes  struggled  for  expression  in 
this  man's  eyes.     He  waited  a  half-hour  —  scarcely  with 


GUENN.  57 

patience,  yet  motionless  —  hj  the  table;  then,  looking 
at  his  watch,  he  rose  quicklj-  and  stood  by  Rodellec's 
bed. 

"  Herve  !  Wake  up,  man  !  "  he  said,  with  first  a 
gentle  and  then  a  vigorous  shake  of  the  sleeper's 
shoulder. 

Rodellec,  muttering  an  oath,  turned  over  heavily. 

"  Wake  up,  Rodellec  !  I  want  you  !  I  've  come  for 
you !  "  and  the  strong  voice,  accustomed  to  be  heard 
above  the  roar  of  winds  and  waves,  now  reached  the 
man's  dulled  senses. 

He  started,  opened  his  e3'es,  and  saw,  half  bhndly,  the 
black  figure.  Crossing  himself  repeatedly,  he  began 
mumbling  hurried,  distracted  prayers  to  Saint  Herve  of 
Plouvenec,  and  Saint  Jean  de  la  Roche. 

"  I  am  not  the  devil,"  said  the  priest  gravely.  "  He 
has  not  come  for  jou.^ —  not  yet,  Herve,"  he  added  with 
grim  humor.  "  I  am  only  Thymert.  I  have  come  to 
talk  with  3'ou.     Will  you  get  up  now? " 

Rodellec  crawled  out  of  his  bed  as  he  had  crawled  in, 
in  a  half-dressed  condition.  Morose  and  stupid,  he 
dropped  upon  the  bench  and  gazed  with  hstless  eyes  at 
the  cure  standing  before  him,  a  slanting  beam  of  light 
from  the  httle  window  falling  upon  the  threadbare 
soutane  and  broad  shoulders,  long  black  hair,  dark 
earnest  eyes,  and  emotional  mouth,  but  half  trained 
to  the  sternness  it  now  wished  to  assume. 

"  You  can't  listen  like  that,"  the  priest  said  with  dis- 
satisfaction. "  Drink  something.  I  suppose  you  cannot 
eat.     Is  there  no  water  here  ?  " 

"  That  cursed  girl  of  mine,"  grumbled  Rodellec. 

Thymert  spied  the  porridge,  as  well  as  a  great  green 
jug  of  fresh  water. 

Here  ! "  —  and  his  face  softened,  —  "  the  little  girl 


t(. 


58  GUENN. 

did  not  forget  3'ou.  Cool  your  brains  with  that,"  — 
pouring  a  gallon  of  water  into  a  great  earthen  bowl. 
*' Again,  again!"  he  cried,  as  Rodellec  plunged  his 
heavy  head  into  the  cool  water,  —  then  dried  his  hair 
on  one  of  Guenn's  long  blue  aprons  hanging  in  the 
chimney-corner. 

' '  Have  3^ou  nothing  to  drink  ?  " 

"  If  it's  all  the  same  to  you,"  replied  Rodellec  in  a 
shame-faced  way. 

"  Drink  then  !  "  said  Thymert  imperiously. 

Rodellec  reached  up  to  the  shelf  for  a  quart  of  old, 
hard  cider,  from  which  he  took  a  long  draught,  and, 
after  a  pause  for  breath,  another. 

' '  Do  you  want  some  ?  "  he  said  to  the  priest,  who 
replied  by  a  disdainful  wave  of  the  hand ;  then  rising, 
he  lifted  the  porridge  from  the  hearthstone,  and  offered 
it  to  Rodellec. 

He  took  one  spoonful,  and  pushed  it  aside  with  re- 
pugnance. The  cure  shrugged  his  shoulders.  ''  I 
thought  as  much,"  he  said.  Rodellec  refreshed  himself 
with  several  more  draughts  from  the  flagon  of  cider. 
Presently  an  expression  of  alert  cunning  stole  into 
his  eyes. 

Then  Thymert  said  simply  :  "  You  are  yourself  now, 
Herve  ?     You  are  awake  ?  " 

"  That  I  am,  and  glad  to  see  the  best  friend  a  poor 
devil  like  me  ever  had,"  returned  Rodellec  with  an  air 
of  bluff  cordiality. 

He  was  by  no  means  a  bad-looking  man  when  neither 
drunk  nor  in  a  brutal  rage.  His  reddish-brown  hair, 
iouched  with  gray,  waved  back  like  Guenn's  from  a 
broad  forehead.  His  eyes,  true  Celtic  blue,  more  mer- 
ciless than  any  dark  eyes  in  the  world,  —  the  eyes 
'il\at  harden  in  anger  and  give  steel-Uke  flashes  of  hate 


GUENN.  .  59 

and    cruelty,  —  were   now   smiling   at  the   cur^   with 
pleasing  frankness. 

Simple  people,  who  like  to  entertain  the  ingenuous  con- 
viction that  an  ungovernable  temper  indicates  honesty, 
and  that  only  the  false  nature  controls  itself,  —  also,  that 
a  villain  never  looks  you  squarely  in  the  face,  — might 
have  suffered  an  overthrow  of  their  pet  theories,  with  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  Herve  Rodellec's  career.  His 
bold  eyes  fell  before  no  man.  Thej^  could  gaze,  without 
Winking,  at  the  sun,  spy  a  sail  on  the  distant  horizon, 
stare  innocence  itself  out  of  countenance.  The  \iolence 
of  his  passions  did  not  prevent  him  from  possessing  the 
supposed  opposite  qualities  of  craftiness,  cruelty,  and 
avarice.  His  instincts  were  brutal,  his  constitution  was 
a  marvel  of  strength,  his  liver  faultless.  Consequentl}-, 
he  never  knew  one  moment's  remorse  for  any  crime  he 
had  committed,  any  suffering  he  had  caused.  Tears 
would  start  easily  to  his  eyes  as  proof,  to  the  credulous, 
of  tender  feeling ;  but  his  hard  soul  never  wept.  He 
was  a  hypocYite,  even  to  himself,  and  could  only  be 
influenced  by  his  greed  or  superstition.  Such  a  man 
might  easily  have  deceived  a  clever  student  of  human 
nature,  who,  wishing  to  be  just,  would  ask  himself,  What 
is  true  here,  —  what  is  false  ?  But  Thymert's  safety  lay 
in  his  extreme  simplicity.  Like  a  child  who  learns  his 
English  Kings,  —  draws  his  strong  line  of  demarcation 
through  the  tangled  mazes  of  history,  and  says,  unfal- 
teringl}':  "Richard  was  good,  John  was  bad,"  —  so 
Thymert's  mind  was  also  free  from  subtle  perplexities 
of  good  merging  into  bad,  and  bad  creating  good.  To 
him,  Rodellec  was  a  false  man,  therefore  a  bad  man,  to 
be  regarded  with  incessant,  uncompromising  distrust, — 
his  maudlin  tears,  his  oaths,  his  smiling  friendliness,  all 
emanating  alike  from  the  Father  of  Lies. 


60  .  GUENN. 

"  I  onl}^  want  to  speak  about  the  children,"  Thymert 
Baid,  quietl}'  ignoring  Rodellec's  outstretched  hand. 

"  My  dear  children,"  began  Rodellec  in  a  sentimen- 
tal whine,  "  all  that  are  left  to  the  old  man  now,  and 
Barba  gone  to  the  angels." 

"•  You  forget  that  you  are  talking  to  me,"  said  Thy- 
mert coldly.  "Why  waste  your  time,  Herve?  No 
words  can  change  what  j^ou  and  I  know.  You  are 
not  an  old  man  ;  j^ou  are  a  strong  sailor,  in  your  prime. 
Barba  is  gone  to  the  angels,  —  God  rest  her  pure  soul," 
(he  crossed  himself  devoutly,) — "but  Guenn  and  Nan- 
nie are  still  with  3'ou.  I  want  to  take  care,  if  I  can, 
that  a  drunken  kick  does  not  send  either  of  them  to  the 
angels  before  their  time." 

"Has  that  brat  of  mine  been  telling  on  me?"  de- 
manded Rodellec  angrily,  with  an  oath,  and  a  blow  of 
his  fist  on  the  stout  table. 

"  I  have  not  spoken  with  Guenn  since  the  Pardon  at 
Bernodet.     Something  tells  me  when  to  come,  Herve." 

Rodellec  crossed  himself  hastil3\ 

What  Breton  peasant  does  not  believe  in  revenants  ? 
and  Barba  was  Thymert's  cousin.  Then,  familiarly  as 
the  cures  ma}-  live  with  the  people,  something  of  the 
veneration  of  their  ancestors  for  the  Druid  priests  and 
bards  still  lingers  with  the  superstitious  Breton  folk. 

"  I  did  hit  her  the  other  day,  but  it  was  an  accident,"^ 
he  muttered  uneasily. 

The  dark  face  of  the  priest  flushed  to  the  temples. 

"It  was  a  mere  trifle."  Rodellec  raised  the  cider- 
flagon  to  his  hps,  and  smiled  reassuringly  at  the 
cure. 

"  Rodellec,  unless  you  want  to  burn  eternally  in  hell," 
began  Thymert  solemnly,  "you  will  not  harm  the 
children.     Is  it  not  enough  to  have  killed  the  mothei 


GUENJSr,  61 

and  crippled  the  son  ?  I  promised  Barba,  on  her  death- 
bed, I  would  protect  the  children.  They  were  hungry 
at  Bernodet,  Herve  ;  and  Guenn  had  an  ugly  bruise  on 
her  cheek.  —  No,  she  did  not  tell  me  what  it  was. 
Guenn  does  not  tell  tales,  any  more  than  a  carved  saint 
in  a  niche.  I  asked  her.  She  tossed  her  head,  laughed 
and  said,  'Meme  chose,'  and  ran  off  to  dance  the 
gavotte  with  Jeanne's  brother  Alain.  Brave  little 
Guenn ! "  The  young  man's  face  softened  into  a 
gentle  smile  of  remembrance. 

"She  is  an  undutiful  daughter.  She  neglects  her 
poor  old  father,  and  gads  about  the  streets  ;  and  that 's 
the  truth,  monsieur  le  recteur." 

"  She  is  a  faithful,  hard-working  child.  She  brings 
you  forty  francs  a  month,  and  more,  from  the  usine ; 
besides  what  she  earns  extra  as  buyer,  for  errands,  and 
for  help  at  the  Voyageurs.  But  if  she  were  all  you  say, 
and  worse,  whose  fault  would  it  be?" 

"  Things  have  gone  badly  with  me,"  Rodellec  com- 
plained. "I  have  no  wife  to  look  after  my  house.  I 
have  no  money.  I  have  no  luck  with  my  fishing.  I 
have  a  son  who  is  a  humpback.  I  have  a  hard-hearted 
daughter.  I  am  an  unlucky  man."  He  eyed  Thy- 
mert  slyly  under  his  drooping  lashes. 

"Tell  that  to  your  drunken  companions,"  the  curd 
answered  scornfully.  "Listen  to  me,  Rodellec,"  he 
said,  with  his  most  imperious  air.  "  This  is  not  the 
first  time  —  it  will  unhappily  not  be  the  last  —  that 
I  come  to  you  for  your  dead  wife's  sake,  and  for  the 
sake  of  her  children.  If  they  were  nearer  me,  if  I 
could  take  care  of  them  at  the  Lannions,  —  if  there  were 
any  way  — "  Over  the  priest's  young  face  flitted  a 
warm,  conscious  look. 

*'  You  would  not  separate  a  father  from  his  children?" 


62  GUENN. 

Kodellec  sniffed  and  wiped  his  ej^es,  —  considering  the 
francs  that  Guenn  brought  home. 

''  I  ask  no  promise  of  you,"  Thj-mert  continued 
sternl}^,  utterly  disregarding  the  interruption.  "  I  don't 
believe  your  oath  on  the  crucifix,  3'our  prayers  before 
the  Great  White  Throne.  But  this  I  tell  3'ou.  You  are 
not  to  give  j^our  children  blows,  and  you  are  to  give 
them  bread.  Nannie  must  go  to  school.  Guenn  must 
be  properly  clothed  and  looked  after, — looked  after, 
do  you  understand?  Poor  child,  she  has  onl}'  you  — 
you,  and  all  these  strangers  and  dangers  about  —  3'ou, 
and  she  so  little  and  so  young — you,  and  that  beauti- 
ful bright  face  —  you,  Herve  Rodellec,  worse  than 
nobod}- !  But  listen!" — and  Thymert  rose  threaten- 
ingly—  "  if  you  let  her  go  cold  and  hungry,  if  you  dare 
to  strike  her  once  again  with  3'our  cruel  fist,  if  you  lead 
her  into  an}'  harm  or  danger,  I  will  denounce  3-ou  as 
an  accursed  thing.  I  will  tell  all  Plouvenec  what  I 
know,  —  outside  of  the  confessional,  mind  you,  and  what 
I  ma3'  tell  like  an3'  other,  —  and  no  honest  sailor  will  sail 
with  you  for  fear  of  his  own  soul ;  and  no  man  will  eat 
or  drink  with  3^ou,  and  you  shall  go  up  and  down  on 
the  earth,  a  leper  and  an  outcast,  cursed  b3'  man,  cursed 
by  the  Church,  —  and  every  piece  of  gold,  buried  some- 
where in  3'our  field,  cursed  where  it  lies,  cursed  in  its 
use,  cursed  —  " 

"  Monsieur  le  recteur,"  gasped  Rodellec  in  terror, 
•'  monsieur  le  recteur  !  " 

Thymert  stopped,  sat  down,  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.     "  What  am  I  doing?  "  he  murmured. 

"  Monsieur  le  recteur," — and  Rodellec's  outstretched, 
brawny  hand  trembled  perceptibly,  —  "did  you  curse 
me  then  ?     Is  it  alread3^  done  ?  " 

4 'No  —  no,  man,"  replied  the  cure  in  a  low  voice, 
without  moving. 


GUENJSr.  63 

"  I  am  poor.  I  have  but  little  gold,"  whined  Rodel- 
lec,  "a  mere  handful  put  away  for  my  old  age  ;  but  I 
will  offer  ten  francs  to  Our  Lady  of  the  Lannions,  and 
five  to  Saint  Herv^  of  Plouvenec,  and  Guenn  can  have 
a  new  gown  and  a  kerchief,  and  the  boy  shall  go  to 
school.  I  always  meant  to  send  Nannie  to  school. 
You  are  quite  sure  that  I  am  not  cursed,  monsieur  le 
recteur  ?  " 

Thymert  removed  his  face  from  his  hands.  He  was 
very  pale,  and  looked  at  Rodellec  in  an  absent,  weary 
way.  "  Take  care  of  your  children,"  he  said.  "  There 
are  dangers  for  children  in  a  place  like  Plouvenec." 

''Dangers?"  Rodellec  was  relieved  to  find  himself 
no  longer  the  subject  under  discussion.  "  What  dan- 
gers ?  Guenn  is  a  wildcat,  and  they  are  all  as  afraid 
of  Nannie  as  if  he  were  the  devil's  own  imp."  He 
laughed  heartily. 

"I  must  go."  Thj^mert  rose  abruptly.  "I  have 
still  much  to  do.  Remember  what  I  say,  Herve.  I 
shall  know  if  you  do  not.  Something  will  tell  me. 
Good-day." 

"  Oh  3^es,  I  shall  remember,  monsieur  le  recteur," 
said  Rodellec,  following  him  to  the  door.  "Never 
fear"  — dreading  a  stronger  repetition  of  the  curses 
which  he  felt  he  had  barely  escaped ;  ' '  ten  francs  for 
Our  Lady  of  the  Isles,  and  five  francs  for  Saint  Herve 
of  Plouvenec,  and  a  gown  and  a  kerchief  for  Guenn, 
and  Nannie  is  to  go  to  school.  Ah  yes,  I  shall  re- 
member, monsieur  le  recteur." 

Th3^mert  did  not  once  turn  his  head,  or  notice  him 
again,  but  went  swinging  down  the  road  in  his  old  sou- 
tane, his  open  breviar}^  in  his  hand. 

That  night,  when  Guenn  came  home,  her  father  was 
already  there.     '*  Here,"  he  said,  "  take  that  and  wear 


64  GUENJSr. 

it."  It  was  a  pretty  half-silk  kerchief,  dark-red,  and 
soft  for  a  3'oung  girl's  shoulders.  Guenn  frowned  and 
put  her  hands  behind  her. 

"  Don't  want  it,"  she  said  sullenly. 

"You  wear  it  to-morrow,  and  you  tell  them  all  I 
bought  it  for  3'OU,  —  do  j^ou  hear?"  he  said  with  a 
menacing  look  in  his  eyes,  advancing  towards  her. 

Guenn  did  not  answer.  Had  the  kerchief  been  wo- 
ven of  poisoned  threads,  she  could  not  have  regarded 
it  with  more  suspicion  and  defiance. 

''Tell  them  all  —  Jeanne  and  Nona,  Madame  Qua- 
per  and  madame  at  the  Voyageurs,  and  all  the  women 
at  the  usine  —  that  it  was  a  present  from  3'our  father. 
Well,  why  don't  you  speak?"  shaking  her  roughly. 
Guenn's  face  set  with  a  more  dogged  obstinacy. 

"  If  you  hurt  her,  he'll  know,"  said  a  voice  from  the 
corner.  Nannie  had  stolen  noiselessly  in,  and  with  his 
long  elbows  on  the  table,  his  pale  face  in  his  hands, 
was  calmly  watching  the  scene.  Rodellec  was  startled. 
Nannie  had  an  unpleasant  habit  of  startling  everybody 
except  Guenn,  who  was  never  surprised  or  distressed 
by  any  whim  of  his. 

*'  Who  will  know?  "  demanded  the  father. 

Nannie  smiled  maliciously. 

"Where  were  you  this  morning?"  asked  Rodellec 
uneasily. 

"Down  on  the  shore,  playing  with  souls  —  placing 
with  souls  —  souls  —  souls,"  chanted  the  boy  with  a 
strange  rh3i;hm  of  his  own.  He  had  discovered,  very 
early  in  his  j-oung  life,  that  his  father's  heavy  hand 
could  be  arrested  only  by  a  clever  appeal  to  the  super- 
natural. The  role  he  had  assumed  to  protect  his  weak 
body  had  grown  to  be  second-nature,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  say  to  what  degree  Nannie  was  playing 


GUENN,  65 

fine  comedy,  and  how  far  he  actually  believed  himself 
endowed  with  the  prophetic  gifts  of  the  ancient  Breton 
bards  and  seers.  As  he  could  insert  his  diminutive 
person  into  very  small  spaces,  and  had  no  insurmount- 
able prejudice  against  eavesdropping,  his  strong  cur- 
osity  and  very  good  memory  were  richly  fed ;  and 
Nannie  Eodellec,  in  spite  of  his  youth  and  deformity, 
found  his  fellow-creatures  an  interesting  study,  —  often 
an  amusing  plaything. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  mean.  What  have  you  seen  and 
heard?"  said  his  father  violently.  "  Talk,  for  once, 
like  a  human  being." 

"  I  saw  all  that  there  was  to  see.  I  heard  all  that 
there  was  to  hear,  playing  with  souls  —  on  the  waves  — 
waves  —  waves,"  rolling  up  his  eyes,  and  fixing  them 
intently,  and  in  an  unpleasantly  suggestive  manner,  on 
a  point  behind  his  father's  head. 

Rodellec  involuntarily  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 
Somewhat  ashamed  of  yielding  to  the  impulse,  he  said 
roughly:  ''Nannie,  you  are  to  go  to  school.  Go  to- 
morrow, and  put  some  sense  into  your  empty  pate,  if 
you  can." 

"  I  knew  I  was  to  go  to  school.  I  will  go,  but  they 
can't  teach  me  anything.  I  knew  it  all,  long  ago  — 
long  ago  —  long  ago." 

Guenn  looked  afi"ectionately  at  her  brother,  and 
laughed. 

"  Nannie,  what  did  you  see?"  she  said  quite  gently. 
^*  What  do  you  know  to-day?  " 

"  I  saw  Thymert,"  answered  Nannie  bluntly,  like  an 
ordinary  child.  "  I  want  something  to  eat,  Guenn. 
I  'm  hungry  as  a  dog.     I  want  some  crepes." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Guenn,  with  eagerness. 

She  stooped  qpickly  and  picked  up  the  kerchief. 


66 


GUENN. 


"Did  Thj-mert  make  you  buy  this  for  me?"  she 
asked  her  father  boldly.  "Was  he  here  to-day?'* 
She  began  smoothing  it  softly.  It  looked  pretty  to  her 
now. 

"Wear  it,  little  fool,"  he  said  brutall}^ ;  which  was 
the  last  word  Rodellec  vouchsafed  his  famity  that  night » 
Guenn  smilingl}-  folded  it,  and  carefully  laid  it  awa}^ 
before  she  went  for  Nannie's  crepes.  Soon  the  Rodel- 
lecs  were  sleeping  as  peacefully  as  if  they  had  been 
gentle,  well-bred,  and  united. 


CHAPTER  V. 


HAMOR  pitched  his  tent  at  Plouvenec  with  char- 
acteristic ease.  He  was  soon  installed  in  his 
studio,  had  adapted  himself  to  the  prevailing  customs, 
and  begun  work.  There  were  thirty  or  forty  artists  in 
the  neighborhood,  leading  apparently  the  happiest  life 
in  the  world.  This  pol3'glot  colony  was  accepted  by 
the  natives,  in  general,  with  stolid  sufferance.  To 
them,  the  painters  were  all  foreigners,  —  a  genuine 
Breton  having  no  more  in  common  with  a  Parisian 
than  with  a  Norwegian  or  a  Greek. 

The  artists  increased  somewhat  the  liveliness  of 
trade  in  Plouvenec ;  a  fact  appreciated  by  its  shop- 
keepers, who  liked  their  small  gains  and  knew  how  to 
hoard  them. 

Plouvenec  at  times  was  noisier  than  a  great  cit}^, 
and  with  its  bustle,  mixed  population,  and  summer 
visitors,  was  slowly  becoming  more  or  less  modernized. 
Its  petite  bourgeoise  regarded  itself  with  pride,  and  had 


'68  GUENJSr. 

its  local  scandals,  feuds,  and  rivalries,  like  the  rest  of 
the  world.  It  ordered  foulards  and  antiquated  fashion- 
plates  from  Nantes,  which  showed  a  certain  power  of 
assimilation.  Still,  in  the  population  of  pure  Breton 
descent,  among  the  peasants,  sailors,  and  workmen, 
much  remained  of  the  old  Celtic  element,  of  the 
"hearts  of  oak,  hearts  of  granite"  proudly  sung  by 
Breton  poets.  The  oak  and  granite  attributes,  however 
admirable  in  Breton  ballads,  seemed  now  to  display 
themselves  chiefly  in  indomitable  resistance  to  new 
ideas.  To  this  day  there  are  to  be  found,  in  small 
hamlets  and  on  lonely  farms,  men  who  live  in  the  stone 
houses  of  their  remote  ancestors,  and  who  have  not 
made  the  slightest  perceptible  advance  upon  the  ideas 
and  civilization  of  a  long-past  age.  They  wear  its 
costume,  and,  under  theh'  flowing  hair,  cherish  its 
prejudices. 

A  man  of  this  description  takes  care  of  his  monej^  in 
the  good  old  Breton  way,  dropping  it  coin  by  coin  into 
a  bag,  which  he  secretes  in  a  snug  corner  of  his  farm. 
This  conservative  method  of  banking  is  apt  to  produce 
results  which,  even  to  the  most  optimistic  vision,  present 
an  undignified  picture  of  human  nature.  For,  the  mo- 
ment the  Heart-of-oak  breathes  his  last,  the  next  of 
kin,  instead  of  devoting  themselves  to  decorous  mourn- 
ing, are  to  be  seen  breathlessly  upturning  his  field. 

The  heart-of-oak  qualit}^  was  also  prominentl}-  de- 
veloped among  the  mechanics  of  Plouvenec,  as  the 
artists  found  to  their  cost  when  they  wished  a  bit  of 
quick  work  done, —  a  window  altered,  or  a  packing-case 
in  which  to  send  off"  some  pictures  to  Paris.  Instead  of 
a  box  lightly  put  together,  3^et  suflflciently  durable  to 
bear  a  day's  journey,  the  Heart-of-oak  persisted  in 
making  the  ideal  box  of  his   ancestors,  massive  as  a 


GUENN.  69 

monument,  firm  as  a  dolmen,  heavy  as  lead ;  in  itself 
an  admirable  structure,  but  wholly  unsuited  to  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  created.  The  Heart-of- 
oak  ignored  instruction  and  expostulation,  communing 
thus  with  himself:  "Shall  I  allow  a  foreign  gars  to 
explain  to  me  the  properties  of  a  box?  Shall  a  man 
who  spends  his  days  in  daubing  paint  on  good  sail* 
cloth  dictate  to  me  about  dimensions,  wood,  and  nails? 
Je  m'en  moque  bien  !  " 

But  the  painters  occupied  the  land  ;  and  the  villagers, 
for  the  most  part,  tolerated  them.  As  long  as  the 
strangers  conducted  themselves  discreetly,  bearing  in 
mind  that  they  were  but  aliens;  as  long  as  they 
abstained  from  stealing  the  sailors'  sweethearts,  and 
turning  the  heads  of  the  woman  population  in  general ; 
as  long  as  they  forbore  to  interfere  with  fights,  paid 
their  bills,  and  let  well  enough  alone,  they  were  welcome 
to  stride  through  Breton  forests,  to  haunt  the  lovely 
chemins  creux,  to  make  telescopes  of  their  hands  and 
stare  in  rapture  at  the  sky,  to  exhibit  their  familiar 
brown  corduroys  on  every  crag  and  beach,  to  put  a 
girdle  of  camp-stools  and  easels  round  Plouvenec  and 
all  the  adjacent  hamlets. 

But  what  the  natives  thought  of  the  painters  is  quite 
a  difi'erent  matter.  Happily  we  are  not  always  required 
to  define  our  impressions.  An  honest  thresher,  thresh- 
ing with  his  chosen  band  in  the  field  before  his  cottage- 
door,  stops  to  answer  the  civil  question  of  the  stranger 
leaning  over  the  gate.  In  the  brief  pause  before  the 
cheerful  flail  begins  again,  the  thresher  and  his  com- 
panions have  drawn  their  conclusions  of  a  man  who, 
even  as  he  speaks  about  grain,  is  rolling  his  rapt  eyes 
heavenwards  in  unconscious  search  for  a  background. 
The  sailors,  lounging  on  the  parapet  at  the  end  of  the 


70  GUENN. 

digue,  attract  the  pleased  gaze  of  an  artist.  His  glance 
falls  with  a  certain  tenderness  upon  their  bronzed  faces, 
their  dull-blue  blouses,  their  scarlet  belts,  their  free 
action.  He  speaks  with  them.  There  is  something 
warm  and  southern  in  their  faded  reflections.  He  is 
reminded  of  Genoa,  of  Naples.  He  composes  a  picture 
then  and  there. 

Suddenly,  across  the  shining  waves,  he  spies  a  rarer 
subject.  A  bare-legged  boy  shrimping,  and  wearing,  for 
motives  of  convenience,  one  short  garment.  Gray  upon 
gray !  A  dull  gray  shirt  upon  a  clear-gray  beach,  by 
gray-green  water,  —  background,  smoky  green-gray 
genet  against  a  blue-gray  sky.  Variations  of  sesthetic 
gray.  A  harmony  !  Atmosphere,  values,  distance,  — 
such  thoughts  absorb  the  artist's  soul.  He  forgets  the 
existence  of  the  bronzed  sailors,  his  words  die  away 
unfinished  on  the  air,  his  telescopic  hands  fly  into 
position.  Then,  wheeling  swiftly,  he  turns  his  back 
upon  the  precious  gray  shrimper,  stoops  and  looks  at 
him  through  an  inverted  Fof  brown  velveteen.  What 
can  the  brave  Breton  sailors  think  of  this  untram- 
melled action  of  genius  ?  Surely,  that  the  able-bodied 
stranger  is  either  a  madman  or  a  fool,  with  perhaps  a 
strong  inclination  towards  the  latter.  The  unconscious 
artist  goes  his  way,  making  telescopes  of  his  hands, 
framing  landscapes  with  his  legs.  The  sailors'  thoughts 
are  free.  They  exercise  their  sovereign  right  of 
ridiculing  what  they  do  not  understand.  Now,  as  in 
classic  daj^s,  strangers  are  barbarians. 

Thus  the  sturdy  Bretons  regarded  the  painters. 
Among  the  artists,  while  there  were  wheels  within 
wheels  of  acquaintance,  —  and  a  man  might  happen  to 
have  a  friend,  two  or  more  friends,  no  friends,  —  in 
general  he  was  to  another  artist  exactly  what  he  repre- 


GUENN.  71 

sen-ted  in  art,  no  more,  no  less.  Jones  was  a  man  with 
a  second  medal.  Brown  had  begun  well,  but  was 
now  painting  abominable  chic.  Most  of  them  were 
workers.  K  a  man  did  not  care  to  work,  he  was  not 
apt  to  stay  long  in  Plouvenec.  Paris,  indeed,  was  not 
far  off,  when  one  grew  wear}^  and  discouraged,  and 
craved  excitement.  They  concerned  themselves  little 
about  one  another.  It  was  natural  to  recognize  a 
brother  artist  whom  one  passed  every  day  in  the  same 
lane,  whom  one  saw  smoking  an  after-dinner  cigar  at 
the  same  table,  or  playing  a  game  of  billiards  regularly 
in  the  cafe.  Still,  in  Plouvenec  everj^  man  was  for  him- 
self. Now  and  then  a  stray  fact  would  escape  from 
the  closed  pages  of  a  life,  and  produce  a  brief  flutter- 
mg  effect.  But  what  did  it  matter,  after  all,  whether 
the  so-called  Robinson  was  prince  or  peasant  ?  The 
question  was,  could  he  paint? 

Yet  unrevealed,  in  the  gay  little  painter-world,  were 
half-finished  romances,  tragedies  with  the  fifth  act 
undetermined,  unwritten  poems,  pathetic  Madonnas  of 
the  future.  Among  them  all,  there  was  scarcely  a  man 
whose  circumstances  were  quite  propitious.  One  had 
shaken  off  the  burden  of  uncongenial  employment  too 
late  in  life  to  ever  become  in  art  what  he  might  have 
been.  Mediocrity  was  his  portion,  and  he  knew  it ;  yet 
he  worked  with  feverish  haste,  as  if  to  atone  for  the 
time  he  had  lost,  and  with  a  great  patience  saw  his  in- 
feriors mastering  the  technique  which  was  his  master. 
Another  was  depressed  by  the  relentless  opposition  of 
his  family  to  his  career.  Worldl}^  ease  and  the  woman 
he  loved  would  reward  him  for  deserting  his  art. 
Another,  who,  pure  of  aim,  had  forced  his  way  through 
toil  and  privation,  and  won  his  freedom  to  follow  his 
heart's  desire,  — -  he  to  whom  life  upon  life  would  be 


72  GUENN, 

too  brief  a  time  for  all  his  glowing  fancy  longed  to 
reveal,  —  knew  that  his  days  were  numbered. 

Then,  prosaic  and  displeasing  as  the  fact  may  appear, 
the  majority  lacked  the  moral  support  of  a  comfortable 
income,  and  were  chafed  by  the  endless  rubs  life  bestows 
upon  spirits  that  disdain  pecuniary  restrictions,  and 
meet  them  at  every  turn.  The  hero  of  the  modern 
analytical  novel  seems  too  often  to  command  unlimited 
wealth.  His  problems  are  purely  psychological.  When 
be  suffers  a  disappointment  in  love,  he  is  apt  to  travel 
first-class  across  two  continents,  or  spend  a  winter  in 
Egypt  —  burying  his  sorrows  in  a  dahahe'eh^  which  he 
has  engaged  exclusively  for  himself  and  his  faithful 
but  expensive  servant. 

Then  the  poor  but  honest  3'oung  man  has  reaped 
more  than  his  share  of  golden  harvests  in  moral  tales. 
But  who  is  moved  to  sing  the  manifold  deeds  of  the 
unnumbered  throng  who  all  their  lives  have  just  too 
little, — who  do  not  suffer  from  hunger  or  cold,  who 
never  wear  patched  raiment,  or  in  any  way  appeal  to 
the  sympathies  of  the  philanthropist,  who  have  expen- 
sive tastes  and  the  training  of  gentlemen,  and  always 
just  too  little  to  carr}^  out  their  dearest  wish,  too  little 
to  be  free  men? 

Such,  for  the  most  part,  were  the  Plouvenec  painters  ; 
and  when  one  of  them  seemed  chosen  of  the  gods,  when 
friends  and  wealth  and  talent  favored  him,  and  he  had 
been  dedicated,  even  as  a  child,  to  the  service  of  Art, 
and  now  stood  in  his  youth  and  strength  with  the  world 
at  his  feet,  —  then  the  inevitable  flaw  was  in  his  own  soul, 
and  he  lacked  the  pure  devotion,  the  "  infinite  capacity 
for  taking  pains  "  which  Art  exacts  of  her  followers. 

As  a  rule,  the  men  with  sad  histories  wore  cheerful 
countenances,  went  bhthely  to  their  work  by  day,  and 


GUENN,  73 

were  the  best  possible  company  evenings;  while  the 
men  of  easy  fortune,  monotonous  lives,  and  it  may  be 
a  touch  of  dyspepsia,  were  apt  to  shun  society,  and  in 
their  settled  melancholy,  the  imaginative  eye  could  read 
a  tale  of  doom. 

Day  after  day,  month  after  month,  the  artists  worked 
on  the  meadows,  by  the  lavoirs,  and  along  the  shores 
of  the  noble  bay  where  the  tawny  sails  were  always 
passing  to  and  fro,  with  hints  of  Venice  in  their  ardent 
tone.  And  working,  they  were  happy  in  spite  of  the 
past,  the  future,  the  fates,  for  such  work  is  joy.  From 
this  little  corner  of  Brittany,  magnetic  fibres,  thrilled 
with  aspiration  and  enthusiasm,  reached  to  lands  be- 
yond seas,  and  trembled  in  response  with  a  burden 
of  prayers  and  hope  and  warm  desire ;  and  there  were 
more  colors  on  the  painter's  canvas  than  the  world's 
eyes  could  discern.  Of  them  all,  Everett  Hamor  was 
perhaps  as  free  as  any  one  from  inconvenience  aris- 
ing from  affections  or  regrets. 

He  knew  most  of  the  artists  by  reputation,  many  of 
them  personally,  and  had  been  much  with  Staunton  and 
Douglas  in  Paris.  Douglas  was  a  long-legged  brown- 
bearded  Scotchman.  He  had  a  way  of  stalking  into 
his  friends'  studios,  silently  staring  about  with  ex- 
tremely kind  eyes,  and  stalking  out  again,  solemn  and 
silent  as  he  came.  He  was  slow  of  speech,  usually 
deliberate  in  his  judgment,  yet  capable  of  sudden  and 
violent  prejudices, — honest,  obstinate,  and  kind.  He 
liked  to  listen  to  a  good  story,  and  his  pleasant,  low 
laugh  always  followed  one  with  a  visible  and  brilliant 
point.  But  he  often  afforded  his  friends  exquisite  enjoy- 
ment, by  his  mild  unconsciousness  of  the  humor  of  a 
situation.  His  life  had  been  fuU  of  difficulty  and  self- 
sacrifice,  and  hfe  had  but  recently  taken  up  painting.     If 


74  GUENN, 

tenacity  alone  would  make  a  master,  Douglas  was  sure 
of  fame.  He  was  a  cautious,  conscientious  man :  and 
although  no  one  else  doubted  his  abilit}^,  he  himself  was 
b}'  no  means  convinced  that  his  degree  of  talent  justified 
his  devotion  to  art.  This  misgiving  oppressed  him  fre- 
quently, and  made  him  more  silent  than  ever.  His 
discouragement  closed  in  around  him  like  a  heavy  fog. 

Staunton  was  a  strong  landscape-painter ;  and  other- 
wise, an  amiable  young  Englishman,  with  a  compact, 
well-built  figure  of  medium  size,  long  gray  eyes,  and 
curly  brown  hair,  closel}^  cropped.  He  was  endowed 
with  aristocratic  and  influential  connections,  and  spelled 
societ}"  with  a  capital  S.  He  had  travelled  along  the 
highways  of  life  in  irreproachable  company.  Bywa3^s 
were  not  to  his  taste.  His  views  of  societ}^  religion, 
and  politics  were  purely  conservative  ;  but  when  Hamor 
or  Douglas  chose  to  express  iconoclastic  tendencies,  he 
would  smile  in  his  sweet-tempered  fashion,  and  abandon 
the  field  of  controversy.  They  were  capable  of  hot  dis- 
cussions, of  quarrelling  about  a  principle,  an  idea. 

Staunton's  gentle  tone  was  a  part  of  himself.  The 
courteous  modulations  of  his  voice  were  never  blurred 
by  excitement.  His  frank  comment  upon  passing  things 
was  always  ready;  but  his  real  reticence  was  greater 
than  that  of  the  silent,  cautious  Scotchman.  Douglas 
would  diflfer  with  3'ou  bluntly  upon  occasion.  You 
would  only  suspect  Staunton  of  differing  with  3'ou,  be- 
cause you  would  fail  to  extract  any  opinion  whatever 
from  him.  Hamor  had  once  laughingl}^  accused  him  of 
traveUing  incognito.  "  I  travel  very  comfortabl}^,  at 
least,"  Staunton  replied  softly. 

Why  and  how  Staunton  and  Hamor  had  drifted 
together  was  a  question  each  had  frequently  asked  him- 
self.    But  they  felt,  upon  the  whole,  comfortable   to- 


GUENN,  75 

gether,  —  which  is  perhaps  the  foundation  of  most  inti- 
macies among  men.  Then  when  Staunton  looked  at 
his  friend's  pictures,  he  dropped  his  incognito.  The 
real  man  spoke  unhesitatingly^  In  art,  they  found 
each  other.  Conventionality,  exaggeration,  and  fantas- 
tic masks  fell  away,  and  they  became  simple  and  true. 
Each  felt  profound  respect  for  the  other's  talent,  and 
was  proud  of  his  success. 

Hamor  had  been  a  week  in  Plouvenec,  when  he  said 
one  morning  to  his  friends,  as  the  three  were  taking  their 
coffee,  each  absorbed  in  a  newspaper,  "  If  you  have 
a  half-hour  to  spare,  come  over  and  see  my  atelier." 

"Atelier?  I  didn't  know  that  there  was  another 
available  room  in  Plouvenec.  And  you  are  welcome  to 
mine.     I  told  you  so,"  said  Staunton. 

"This  is  not  a  room." 

"I  suppose  it's  a  temple  not  made  with  hands,  if 
you  are  in  it.  All  your  geese  are  swans,"  drawled 
Douglas. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Hamor  oracularly. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  do  you  flatter  yourself  that  you 
can  do  the  honors  of  Plouvenec  to  two  old  residents  ?  " 
Staunton  remarked,  as  the  3^oung  men  walked  along. 

"  Well,  I  know  I  have  found  a  good  big  place  to 
work  in.  Even  if  one's  out-of-doors  most  of  the  time, 
one  wants  some  headquarters.  You  two  can  move  your 
traps  in,  if  you  like." 

"  Come  now,  Hamor,  I  like  that,"  Staunton  said  with 
a  smile.  "There's  a  tremendously  conquering-hero 
air  about  you  this  morning.  I  don't  see  anything 
supernaturally  clever  in  stumbling  upon  a  room." 

"  Reserve  your  opinion  until  you  see  if  I  have  stum- 
bled. Here  we  are."  And  he  ushered  them  through 
a  high  tunnel-like  stone  entrance,  past  heavy  wagons* 


76  GUENN. 

and  a  red  and  yellow  omnibus,  in  its  brief  hour  of 
relaxation. 

With  an  air  of  ownership,  he  took  from  his  pocket  a 
ponderous  key,  unlocked  a  gate  which  opened  into  a 
court  about  eighty  feet  square.  It  was  empty  and 
sunny,  with  buildings  on  three  sides,  and  a  high  fence 
separating  it  from  the  paved  lane  or  carriage-way 
through  which  they  had  come.  Hamor  locked  the  gate, 
and,  smihng,  made  a  sweeping  gesture  with  his  right 
arm.     The  young  men  stood  looking  about  critically. 

"Very  good,  so  far,"  said  Staunton.  "  Good  place 
to  dry  pictures.     What  next?" 

Hamor  conducted  them  to  the  large  building  at  the 
back  of  the  j^ard.  A  rude  outside  stairway,  its  steps 
perilous  and  now  and  then  wanting,  turned  the  corner 
and  led  to  the  upper  floor. 

"My  castle,"  he  said,  as  they  entered. 

It  was  a  garret  of  unusual  size,  with  three  deep  dor- 
mer-windows looking  towards  the  court,  and  three  little 
loop-hole  windows  in  the  roof  on  the  other  side,  staring 
up  at  the  sky.  The  rough  rafters  were  warm  browns 
and  gra3"s  —  one  end-wall,  dull-yellow  brick,  the  other 
of  kregularly  placed  whitewashed  stones.  A  huge 
white-plastered  chimney  rose  in  monumental  fashion 
near  the  end  of  the  room. 

The  place  smelt  of  fruit  stored  there  to  ripen.  Phe- 
nomenal cobwebs  graced  the  rafters  and  broken  window- 
panes,  delighting  the  painters'  eyes.  Empty  packing- 
cases  were  lying  about  the  floor.  Hamor  piled  up  sev- 
eral of  them. 

*'  Sit  down,  won't  you,"  he  said  hospitably,  at  the 
same  time  seating  himself. 

"  There 's  a  good  bit ! "  Staunton  stared  at  the  far- 
thest window,  muttering:    "Jeanne  knitting  by  that 


GUENN.  It 

broken  stone  window-seat  —  golden  lichens  on  the  roof 
outside  —  fine  effect  of  light  and  values  —  very  Rem- 
brandt, —  warm,  rich  tones  in  the  background." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  get  here?  "  asked  Douglas 
in  his  measured  accents. 

'*  By  what  the  people  who  use  dictionarj^- words  would 
call  the  force  of  an  imperious  inspiration." 

"  And  in  the  kind  of  words  you  use  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  kissed  a  child,  talked  with  a  woman,  got  the 
keys,  walked  in,  and  took  possession.  It  was  very 
simple." 

"  You  kissed  one  of  those  children  ?"  Staunton  turned 
with  considerable  animation,  and  pointed  in  a  compre- 
hensive way  at  the  stables. 

"I  did." 

"  My  dear  Hamor,  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  seemed  to 
object  to  the  insolence  of  success  in  your  manner  just 
now.  I  am  not  the  man  to  underrate  heroism.  Why,  I 
would  n't  kiss  one  of  that  brood  to  save  your  soul." 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Hamor,  laughing.  Then  reflect- 
ively, "I  think  I  hit  upon  rather  a  clean  spot." 

"  Good  heavens,  it  is  inconceivable,"  Staunton  said 
gently. 

"And  I  liked  the  little  thing,"  added  Hamor 
seriousl3\ 

Staunton  looked  amused  and  incredulous. 

"Now  Hamor  means  that,  you  know,"  Douglas 
commented. 

"Ah,"  said  Staunton  with  a  little  shmg,  "that 
alters  the  case.  De  gustibus,  &c.  But  j^ou  don't  tell 
us  how  you  managed  to  get  this  place.  I  've  noticed 
the  building  often  enough.  I  had  the  idea  it  was  full 
of  something  —  grain  or  timber." 

"Well,  whatever  it  t^as  full  of,  it  is  now  full  of— 


78  GUENN. 

genius.  The  fact  is  I  was  prowling  about  in  search 
of  a  studio.  To  speak  plainl}^  I  don't  like  3'our  stuffy 
little  dens.  Which  was  the  saint  who,  when  in  doubt, 
threw  his  stick,  and  went  wherever  it  pointed?" 

"When  in  doubt  he  should  have  played  trumps,'* 
Douglas  interposed. 

"He  did  probably.  So  did  I.  At  all  events  I 
found  myself  in  front  of  the  stables,  gazing  up  at  that 
window  over  the  entrance,  and  a  woman  and  a  child 
were  gazing  down  at  me.  The  stables  were  empty, 
except  for  a  few  decrepit  nags.  I  had  explored  the 
whole  place  and  the  lane  down  there,  and  I  saw  that  the 
court  looked  big  and  promising.  I  went  back  and  plant- 
ed myself  prominently  in  sight.  I  took  off  my  hat  to  the 
woman  in  the  window.  She  came  down  presentlj-  and 
said  that  her  mari  was  out,  and  everybod}^  else  was  out ; 
and  if  I  wanted  a  carriage  to  go  to  Quimper,  I  would 
be  obliged  to  wait  until  somebody  came  back.  Thre(3 
small  and,  I  must  say,  exceedingly  dirty  children  trailed 
down  the  stairs  after  her.  She  was  a  tired  litthi 
woman.'* 

Hamor  smiled,  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  ' '  She  seemed 
to  like  to  lean  against  a  post  in  the  sunshine,  and  tallc 
about  Quimper." 

Douglas  groaned. 

"I  told  her  that  I  couldn't  settle  myself  down  to 
anything  until  I  had  seen  Quimper,  —  that  the  thought 
of  Quimper  kept  me  awake  nights." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  mildly  expostulated  Staunton. 

''•  WeU,  I  did  ask  her,  with  a  kind  of  feverishness  you 
know,  how  soon  she  thought  she  could  furnish  me  with 
any  sort  of  a  vehicle,  even  the  most  rudimentary,  to 
drive  over  there,"  Hamor  went  on,  laughing  a  little ; 
^'  and  I  agreed  to  come  the  next  day  and  see  about  it. 


GUENN.  79 

Then,  after  patting  the  children  at  random,  I  discovered 
the  prettiest  one,  and  declared  it  was  the  image  of 
its  mother." 

"I  should  have  supposed  that  too  feeble  even  for 
Plouvenec  womankind." 

"  My  dear  Staunton,  there  is  no  place  on  earth  where 
woman  can  resist  double-barrelled  flattery.  Then, 
although  I  will  not  insist  upon  this  point,  I  positively 
do  like  children,  and  children  always  like  me." 

"  Ah?  "  said  Staunton  politely. 

"But  he  means  that,"  Douglas  again  explained, 
"  and  he  is  proud  of  it  —  heaven  knows  why.  It's  no 
proof  of  character." 

"  I  am  proud  of  it,"  Hamor  said  with  grave  em- 
phasis. "I  am  very  proud  indeed,  that  children  and 
animals  like  me." 

"  Granted,"  and  Staunton  affably  waived  discussion. 

Hamor  continued  lightly  as  before :  ' '  And  then  I 
lifted  him  up  high  and  dry,  and  kissed  him  on  his  cheek. 
As  I  said,  I  think  it  was  a  comparatively  clean  spot. 
They  wash  their  faces  Sundaj^s,  don't  they?  This  was 
Friday.  Not  that  I  care,"  he  added  liberally.  "Then 
I  confided  to  the  tired  little  woman,  leaning  against  a 
post,  some  of  my  aspirations  exclusive  of  Quimper. 
I  ascertained  that  nobody  used  the  granary,  and  almost 
nobody  the  wheelwright's  shop  at  the  right ;  while  the 
stables,  as  you  see,  do  not  open  upon  the  court  at  all. 
She  and  I  finallj'  roamed  here  in  the  granary  together. 
Its  possibilities  impressed  me.  She,  at  least  her  mari, 
had  the  refusal  of  it,  but  it  belongs  to  Morot.  I  saw 
him.  Result, — granary  and  court  are  mine,  for  the 
paltry  consideration  of  twenty  francs  a  month." 

"Morot,  indeed !"  said  Staunton,  surprised.  "He 
might  have  suggested  it  before.'* 


80  GUENN. 

''  Well  now,3'Ou  can't  expect  people  to  think  for  you. 
It's  enough  that  we  have  it  now,  is  n't  it?  You  can 
move  in  down  below,  or,  for  that  matter,  make  use  of 
this  upper  loft  whenever  3'ou  like." 

"  Thanks.  It's  very  kind  of  3'ou,  I'm  sure —  and  a 
capital  kind  of  barracks,"  Staunton  replied  cordially-. 

"  That  chimney"  's  a  ghastly  figure  in  the  landscape," 
remarked  Douglas  with  a  critical  air. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  paint  a  blazing  fire-spirit  on  it,"  the  lord 
of  the  manor  said  cheerfull}'.  -'  The  fireplace  itself 
is  n't  bad,  3'ou  see.  I'm  going  to  close  up  these  beastly 
little  loop-holes,  and  let  in  one  large  light  overhead,  — 
about  here,  I  should  say;  and  I'll  hang  some  old  red 
sails  in  the  dormer-windows.  Oh,  I  am  charmed  with 
it  all,  3'Ou  know!"  he  went  on  expansivel3'.  "It's 
uike  the  New  England  garret  where  I  used  to  play  when 
I  was  a  bo3\  It  onl3'  wants  a  few  chests  of  must3'  old 
books  and  pamphlets,  some  corn  and  dried  apples,  and 
branches  of  herbs  hanging  from  the  rafters,  —  old 
garments  in  the  corner,  swa3'ing  in  the  breeze  and  filling 
out  as  if  bodies  were  in  them.  How  delightfull3^  one's 
flesh  used  to  crawl !  And  the  fruity  smell,  and  the 
winds  whistling  through  the  broken  panes,  and  the 
cobwebs  —  "  Hamor  was  smiling  a  little  absently,  with 
a  strong  look  of  reminiscence  on  his  face. 

Douglas  stared  kindl3^  enough  at  the  younger  man. 
"Well,  weren't  we  aU  bo3's?  Do  3'Ou  think  New 
England  has  an3^  monopol3''  of  garrets  ?  Had  n't  we  all 
garrets  ?  " 

"I  can't  sa3^  that  I  ever  pla3'ed  in  one,"  Staunton 
admitted,  somewhat  amused.  "  I  don't  remember  that 
we  had  one.  But  I  am  not  to  blame  for  my  want  of 
sentiment  about  it,  you  know — we  were  in  Paris  so 
much  when  I  was  a  bo3^,"  he  added  in  smiling  apology. 


GUENN,  81 

*'  No,  you  couldn't  help  that.  There's  a  great  deal 
you  can't  help,  Staunton,"  Douglas  said  dryly. 

"Here,"  —  and  Hamor  flung  open  a  door  in  the 
3'ellow  wall  at  the  farther  end,  —  "I  have  all  possible 
conveniences.  Old  Morot  hanged  himself  on  that 
beam.  There  are  five  other  beams, — one  for  each  of 
us  and  two  to  spare.  Only  discouraged  painters  need 
apply." 

The  young  men  glanced  into  the  dark  unfinished 
building,  the  continuation  of  Hamor's  granar}^,  but 
having  only  a  ground-fioor. 

"  It's  an  ugly  hole.  If  one  did  not  know  about  it, 
one  could  open  the  door  and  step  off  into  the  next 
world." 

"Or  at  least  into  splints,  and  the  like  unpleasant 
concomitants  of  broken  bones,"  added  Staunton. 

"Now  it  can't  be  on  account  of  old  Morot,  that 
they  do  not  use  this  great  building,"  Hamor  reflected. 

"  Of  course  it  is  precisely  that,"  Staunton  said  with 
his  pleasant  smile.  "  These  people  are  inconceivably 
superstitious." 

"  A  superstitious  age,  like  every  other  phase  of 
human  historj',"  began  Douglas  sententiously,  "has  its 
distinctive  virtues,  which  must  necessarily  decline  before 
a  new  stage  of  progress  can  be  attained.     Lecky." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,  but  just  ask  Leck}^  what  bane- 
ful influence  ghosts  are  supposed  to  exercise  upoD 
grain." 

"Ask  old  Morot  himself,  if  ever  you  see  him,"  sug- 
gested Staunton.  "I  must  be  off  now,  Hamor.  I'D 
certainly  move  in,  the  first  rain}^  day,  and  I'm  awfully 
obliged,  I  'm  sure.  I  forgive  you  for  being  cleverer 
than  I.  If  3'ou'll  kiss  the  dirty  babies  and  flirt  with 
the   tired  little   women,   I   shall    always    be   glad    to 

6 


82  GUENN. 

come  in  for  a  share  of  the  spoils,  you  know  ;  "  giving 
Hamor  his  hand  cordiall}'. 

' '  What  will  3^ou  take  for  3'our  staff,  Hamor  ?  "  Doug- 
las asked  slowl3\ 

"It's  not  for  sale,  old  fellow.  It's  my  one  earthly 
possession.  But  I  must  go  down  and  unlock  the  gate 
for  3'ou."  He  produced  his  large  key,  and  they  walked 
down  the  narrow  stairway  and  across  the  sunn}^  court. 
"  Upon  the  whole,  I  think  I  '11  go  along.  Perhaps  I  can 
hunt  up  some  sails  ;  and  at  least,  I  can  begin  instruc- 
tions about  m}'  window." 

"  I  wish  you  J03'  of  that  undertaking,"  Staunton  said, 
with  his  wise  little  laugh. 

"  It  will  be  the  toughest  work  3'ou  ever  did," 
Douglas  added. 

The  three  young  men  walked  down  the  middle  of  the 
straight  long  road,  between  the  high  garden-walls. 

The  tired  little  woman,  from  her  window  over  the 
entrance,  looked  after  them  with  a  sigh.  Yes,  it  was 
good  to  be  ga}'  like  that,  to  amuse  one's  self  with 
painting  pictures.  And  it  was  good  to  be  a  man. 
Then  indeed  one  could  laugh  without  a  care  in  the 
world.  Hamor  had  forgotten  her  as  he  passed  out 
beneath  her  window.  Now  he  turned  suddenly-,  took 
off  his  hat  and  smiled  back  at  her. 

"  Quimper,"  he  remarked  gravely  to  his  friends, 
"was  founded  by  somebody  or  other  who  escaped 
from  the  siege  of  Troy.  It  is  celebrated  for  its  cathe- 
dral, in  which  the  line  of  the  choir  does  not  follow  the 
line  of  the  nave,  but  runs  off  fifteen  feet  towards  the 
north.     Quimper  —  " 

"  Confound  Quimper  !  "  said  Douglas. 

"I'm  sure  I  have  no  objection,"  Hamor  answere(3 
with  a  laugh. 


CHAPTEE  VI 


ROM  that  time  the  little  wo- 
man saw  the  three  gay  young 
men  coming  and  going  at 
all  hours.  She  would  hear 
them  laugh  under  the  arched 
entrance  ;  and  then  she 
would  wait  for  Hamor's 
bright  look  up  to  her  win- 
dow, and  his  smile.  She 
liked  to  watch  them  walk 
down  the  road  between  the 
walls,  —  the  solemn  man  with  the  brown  beard;  the 
smaller  man,  with  the  quick  step  and  pleasant  eyes. 
They  were  all  amiable  3^oung  men,  and  gay ;  and  that 
she  liked.  But  surely  for  kindness  and  grace,  and  the 
most  charming  smile  in  the  world,  there  was  never  a 
man  like  Monsieur  Hamor. 

They  came  in  and  out  separately  too.  The  man  with 
the  beard  sometimes  walked  slowly  in,  his  head  droop- 
ing, his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  She  could  almost 
think  he  was  sad,  but  that  was  absurd.  How  could  a 
man  be  sad  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  down  there 
in  the  sunny  court  and  amuse  himself?  Then,  how  a 
man  could  be  sad  at  all  was  a  mystery  to  the  little 
woman.     The  one  in  gray,  with  the  pleasant  eyes, — ', 


84  '  GUENN. 

he,  too,  would  now  and  then  come  in  late  in  the  after- 
noon, with  a  grave  face  and  a  slower  step,  and  would 
often  forget  to  look  up  to  her  window.  He  had  a  great 
picture  with  him. 

He  was  tired,  no  doubt.  She  realized  that  men  could 
be  phj-sicall}^  wear^^  But  Monsieur  Hamor  never  hung 
his  head,  never  looked  tired,  never  forgot  his  cheery 
greeting.  She  knew  his  light,  rapid  step  as  far  as  she 
could  hear  it.  Best  of  all  was  when  the  three  came  in 
and  out  together  ;  for  when  Monsieur  Hamor  was  with 
his  friends,  there  were  always  jests  and  pleasant  laugh- 
ter, which  rose  to  her  window  and  made  all  the  air 
around  seem  gay. 

Staunton  and  Douglas  had  moved  their  possessions 
into  the  lower  half  of  the  granary.  Staunton  in  these 
days  was  usually  off,  working  upon  a  large  landscape, 
down  on  a  distant  beach.  Douglas  was  devoting  him- 
self assiduously  to  one  model,  whose  vivid  red  petticoat 
he  intended  should  sing  in  the  foreground  of  his  picture 
of  a  group  of  washerwomen  at  a  la  voir.  It  was  an  inter- 
esting subject.  His  oaks  were  good,  and  the  action  of 
some  of  his  women.  His  water  was  "not  yet  wet 
enough,"  Hamor  told  him,  when  summoned  to  criticise  ; 
"  but  a  pool  of  soapy  water  need  not  be  so  wet  as  waves," 
he  added,  "  and  paint  all  round  your  women,  Douglas, 
— paint  behind  them.  '  Get  in  behind  your  subject,'  as 
Millais  used  to  say."  All  day  long,  with  brief  intervals 
of  repose,  the  woman  knelt  in  the  middle  of  the  court, 
her  square  back  turned  towards  the  artist,  the  singing 
red  folds  over  her  broad  hips  absorbing  his  whole  being. 
Hamor  often  smiled  involuntarily  as  he  glanced  down 
upon  this  motionless  human  hump,  and  upon  Douglas 
—  patient,  solemn,  and  silent  —  before  his  easel. 

Hamor's  studio,  completed,  received  the  unqualified. 


GUENN,  85 

approval  of  his  friends.  No  radical  transformation 
took  place  in  it.  He  made  no  efforts  to  introduce  into 
his  rustic  quarters  Japanese  screens,  tiger-skins,  old 
Venetian  silks.  Gobelin  tapestries,  pontifical  robes,  or 
any  attribute  of  a  luxurious  Paris  atelier.  Garret  and 
ex-granary  it  remained,  in  unabashed  simplicity.  But 
the  distracting  loop-holes  in  the  roof  were  suppressed, 
and  a  broad  skylight  went  in,  —  a  triumph  of  the  car- 
penter's skill,  and  of  Hamor's  tact  and  persuasive  pow- 
ers. The  goodman  who  made  it  never  knew  himself 
how  the  thing  was  done.  The  vastness  of  the  scheme 
and  the  rapidity  of  its  execution  were  facts  he  was 
unable  to  reconcile. 

When  he  passed  down  the  lane  by  the  granary,  and 
saw  his  masterpiece  basking  in  the  sunlight,  he  gazed 
at  it  with  emotion  akin  to  religious  awe.  Who  knew 
better  than  he  how  much  time  a  man  needed  for  a  job 
like  that?  Had  he  not  received  a  medal  for  being  the 
fastest  driver  of  nails  in  the  whole  shipyard  at  Brest? 
WeU,  then,  could  anybody  tell  him  anything  about  rapid 
work  ?  But  this  window  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  mir- 
acle. A  vision  of  a  little  votive-window,  hanging  along 
with  the  little  votive  legs  and  arms  and  ships  at  the 
shrine  of  Saint  Herve,  haunted  his  excited  fancy.  But 
the  young  man  with  the  happy  smile,  who  drove  a  few 
nails  himself  rather  cleverly,  and  handled  a  rule  fairly 
well,  and  took  some  of  the  measurements,  and  got  on 
so  easily  with  the  children,  and  was  continually  running 
in  and  out  with  a  gay  word  for  everybody,  —  what  of 
him?  Might  there  not  be,  after  all,  something  hereti- 
cal, if  singularly  attractive,  about  the  window  and  its 
associations?  And  httle  enough,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  had  he  thought  of  Saint  Herve  while  making  it ! 
He  had  had  no  time  indeed  to  think  of  anything  but  of 


S6  GUENJSr. 

the  strange  gars,  who  had  come  in  as  fresh  as  a  May 
breeze,  and  taken  possession  of  his  tools,  his  work- 
shop, and  himself.  The  carpenter's  religious  theory 
was  simple.  The  complexity'  of  this  situation  bewil- 
dered him.  He  concluded  to  return  special  thanks  to 
Saint  Herve,  and  offer  him  a  fine  long  taper,  but  to 
omit  the  contemplated  addition  to  the  little  arms  and 
legs. 

It  would  be  at  best  an  innovation.  But  he  nourished 
his  soul  with  pride  in  the  skylight  of  mushroom  growth, 
and  every  morning  made  a  triumphal  tour  down  the 
lane.  His  best  hammer  and  chisel  were  always  at  Ha- 
mor's  service,  his  ladder  reposed  amicably  on  Hamor's 
floor.  He  delighted  in  doing  odd  jobs  for  him,  and 
could  with,  difficulty  be  prevailed  upon  to  accept  his 
modest  dues.     Hamor  had  the  carpenter  in  thrall. 

It  pleased  Staunton  and  Douglas  to  make  character- 
istic jokes  upon  the  subject,  but  they  never  fully 
grasped  the  secret  of  Hamor's  success  with  the  multi- 
tude. With  the  models,  as  with  the  workmen,  it  was 
the  same  thing,  Douglas  complained.  They  all  came 
more  willingly  to  Hamor,  and  gave  him  better  service™ 
One  practical  but  ignored  reason  for  this,  was  that  his 
French  was  attractive.  Staunton  used  habituaUy  more 
correct  and  elegant  French  than  he,  —  "  swell-dinner 
French,"  his  friends  called  it  derisively ;  but  Hamor's 
unhesitating  lingual  affability  was  better  adapted  to  the 
fisher-folk.  He  enjoyed  his  popularity,  and  was  as  proud 
of  it  as  if  it  were  an  evidence  of  intellect  or  strength. 

One  day  Douglas,  moved  to  unwonted  curiosity, 
stalked  up  stairs  and  catechised  him. 

"I  say,  Hamor,"  he  began,  "I  don't  see  but  that 
you're  a  long-legged,  awkward  fellow,  pretty  much  like 
me  —  aren't  you?" 


GUENN.  87 

*'  Well,  3^es,  I  should  say  so,"  Hamor  replied, 
laughing  a  little,  —  busy  with  an  ebauche,  and  not 
turning. 

"I  don't  see  anything  extraordinary  about  you," 
Douglas  said,  with  the  utmost  gravity. 

*'  Neither  do  I.    What 's  the  matter  now,  Douglas  ?  " 

"  It  is  Jeanne,"  explained  the  slow  Scotchman.  ' '  She 
does  n't  pose  as  well  as  she  used  to.  She  is  uneasy  when 
it  is  about  time  for  her  to  come  up  to  you.  She  is  inva- 
riably late  when  she  comes  down  to  me.  I  don't  think 
she  likes  to  come  down  to  me." 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  that  all  right,"  Hamor  said,  turning 
and  looking  at  his  friend  with  a  pleasant  smile  "  I  '11 
speak  to  Jeanne  about  it." 

"Yes,  but  why  should  you  be  able  to  make  it  all 
right,  any  better  than  I  ?  That 's  exactly  what  I  want 
to  know." 

Douglas  seated  himself  very  deliberately  on  some 
piled-up  sardine-boxes,  and  stared  soberly  at  Hamor. 

' '  Does  n't  3^our  red  woman  pose  pretty  well  ?  " 

"  Like  a  block." 

*'  She  does  look  a  little  like  a  stepping-stone." 

"  But  that  isn't  posing,  you  know.  She  has  simpl}^ 
to  double  herself  up,  and  keep  still  until  I  tell  her  to 
move." 

"Now,  Douglas,  do  you  know  I  never  see  those 
tempting  outlines  without  wanting  to  play  leapfrog  ?  " 

"Oh,  you  think  if  I  should  play  leapfrog  with  my 
models  it  would  increase  my  influence?" 

Hamor  l^iughed.     "  Well,  yes,  —  mental  leapfrog." 

"I'm  not  acquainted  with  the  sport,"  Douglas  re- 
turned drj^ly.  "But  I  am  in  earnest,  rather,  about 
Jeanne.  She  reall}'  ought  to  pose  better."  His  tone 
gre-w   injured   as  he   specified   his   grievances.      "  She 


88  GUENN. 

ought  to  be  light  and  airy,  you  know,  with  one  hand 
raised  to  the  basket  of  clothes  on  her  head,  and  just 
stepping  off,  and  turning  and  smiling  and  listening. 
Well  now,  she  does  nothing  of  the  sort.  She  holds  her 
waist  as  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  and  listens  —  3'es,  she  listens, 
certainly,  —  but  in  the  wrong  direction.  She  is.  always 
listening  to  hear  you  whistle  and  sing,  and  waiting  for 
you  to  call  her.  The  red  woman  does  n't  count.  What 
do  you  do  to  Jeanne  and  the  others  ?  That 's  what  I 
want  to  know." 

Hamor  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh.  "Douglas,"  he 
said,  ''  3'ou  are  delicious  !  "  Then  hesitating,  still  smil- 
ing :  "  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  do.  I  let  them 
feel  at  home.  I  give  them  the  freedom  of  my  room, 
for  one  thing." 

"Well,  why  should  you  not?  There's  nothing  very 
fragile  up  here,"  turning  his  ej^es  slowly  from  the  rough 
rafters  to  the  broken  stone  window-seats  of  the  gi'eat 
bare  garret. 

"  And  I  am  kind  to  them,  I  suppose." 

"  I  am  kind,  too,"  remarked  Douglas  with  conviction. 
"  I  am  a  very  kind  man." 

"Yes,  but  confound  it, — since  you  insist,  3'ou  lack 
humor,  don't  you  know?" 

' '  What  in  the  deuce  has  humor  to  do  with  my 
models?" 

Hamor  laughed  again,  and  began  filling  in  his 
ebauche  with  heavy  strokes  of  his  brush.  "I  mean 
you  take  them  too  seriously." 

"  Well,  painting  is  a  serious  thing  to  me." 

"  And  to  me  ? "  Hamor  said  quietty,  standing  with  hia 
back  turned,  his  hand  moving  rapidly. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Douglas  honestly;  then 
crossed  his  long  legs  and  reflected. 


GUENN.  89 

There  was  a  prolonged  pause,  during  which  Staun- 
ton came  in  with  a  wet  picture,  and  deposited  it 
carefully,  face  to  the  wall. 

"See  here,  Staunton,"  Douglas  began  at  once,  "I 
am  asking  Hamor  why  our  models  like  him  best,  and 
pose  best  for  him  ?  " 

"'  Do  they?"  said  Staunton  softly. 

''No  doubt  of  it." 

"  Well  then,  I  don't  know  why." 

"'What  makes  the  lamb  love  Mary  so?'  'Why, 
Mary  loves  the  lamb,  you  know,'"  Hamor  suggested 
lightly. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  my  dear  fellow.  That's  all  blague, 
and  you  know  it.  You  care  as  little  for  them  as  I  do  ; 
^hich  is  obviousty  nothing  at  all,  except  as  t\iQy  serve 
my  purpose." 

Hamor  whistled,  and  stepped  back  to  study  his 
ivork, 

"Now  I  was  rather  curious  about  this,"  Douglas 
«jomplained. 

"  If  you  wish  my  opinion," —  began  Staunton. 

"  Oh,  don't  rouse  false  hopes.  Whoever  ma}'  knock, 
your  opinion  is  not  at  home." 

"You  are  quite  welcome  to  it,  this  time,  my  dear 
Hamor,"  replied  Staunton,  laughing  gently.  "I  think 
you  should  have  been  a  fashionable  doctor.  You  have 
an  experimental  tendency.  For  women,  you  would  be 
unsurpassed.  That  tender  voice,  S3'mpathetic  manner, 
and  coldly  observant  vision !  How  the  misunderstood 
would  throw  themselves  into  your  arms,  weep  on  your 
shoulder,  and  confide  to  you  that  nobody  loved  them! 
A  doctor  or —  a  curate.  You  would  n't  be  a  bad  curate, 
do  you  know  ?  " 

Hamor  looked  for  a  moment  at  h's  friend.     "  Upon 


90  GUENN. 

my  word,  Staunton,  I  trust  yoM  think  me  an  honest 
man." 

' '  I  think  that  3'ou  are  —  the  best  draughtsman  in 
Plouvenec,"  Staunton  said  affabh'. 

"  C'est  deja  beaueoup.     It  is  better  than  honesty." 

"  Now,  I  believe  3'Ou,"  rejoined  Staunton,  smiling. 

Suddenl}^  Hamor  turned  and  faced  the  two  men,  a 
flash  from  his  inner  consciousness  illumining  his  whole 
face. 

"I'd  see  them  all  drowned  and  damned  before  my 
ej'es,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  it  would  help  me  paint  as  I 
want  to  paint."     His  lips  set  sternl3\ 

"  Ah,"  Staunton  whistled  softly  under  his  breath. 

"And  3'ou  call  3'ourself  kind?"  remarked  Douglas. 
"Well,  if  this  is  humor,  I  think  I'll  keep  on  taking 
things  seriousl3^"  Without  another  word  he  stalked 
out  of  the  studio  and  returned  to  his  work.  Presently 
Staunton,  with  a  friendly  adieu,  also  disappeared. 

Hamor,  left  alone,  forgot  the  whole  conversation,  — 
even  the  existence  of  his  friends,  —  and  lost  himself  in 
his  drawing. 

He  was  a  singularly  happy  worker,  painting  system- 
atically and  steadily  in  his  atelier  and  in  the  open  air. 
Jeanne  and  Victoria,  and  other  regularly  engaged  models 
of  his  friends,  posed  for  him,  and  he  began  several  pot- 
boilers^ as  he  scornfully  called  the  small,  rapidty  exe- 
cuted pictures  which  he  prepared  for  the  market,  while 
musing  upon  greater  things.  Deep  in  his  heart,  he 
longed  for  Samson,  Ajax,  and  the  Madonna  and  Child. 
Hamor  was  a  man  of  moods,  but  a  mood  in  which  he 
could  not  work,  rarel}'  mastered  him.  When  he  found 
himself  unfitted  to  approach  one  subject,  he  devoted 
himself  to  another.  If  he  felt  unequal  to  depict  the 
glory  of  the  sunset^  he  could  concentrate  his  powers 


GUENN.  91 

upon  a  pair  of  wooden  shoes.  In  short,  in  his  art, 
when  far  from  the  lips  that  he  loved,  he  made  love  to 
the  lips  that  were  near.  Jeanne  knitting,  Jeanne  and 
Victoria  winding  5^arn,  Victoria  and  Jeanne  gossiping 
in  the  sunshine  down  in  the  court,  were  in  various 
stages  of  completion ;  while  his  sketch-book  was  rap- 
idly filling  with  boys  and  sailors  in  striking  attitudes, 
lovely  bits  and  corners  of  landscapes,  and  genre  pictures 
of  the  dail}^  life  of  the  Plouvenec  folk. 

Victoria  had  long  regular  features,  entirely  devoid  of 
expression.  The  j^oung  men  who  painted  chic  were  apt 
to  infuse  into  her  stolid  countenance  whatever  the}'  de- 
sired ;  and  Victoria,  idealized,  was  continually  travel- 
ling off  to  Paris,  suggesting  vague  longings  her  sleepy 
heart  had  never  known,  or,  in  the  art  of  the  bonbon- 
niere,  simpering  with  the  sentimental  coquetr}^  of  the 
young  women  whose  glazed  features  embelUsh  hand- 
kerchief-boxes, or,  pure  as  a  field-flower,  a  veritable 
Breton  Madonna.  Jeanne  was  fresh  and  rosy,  alwaj's 
in  demand,  engaged  months  in  advance.  She  was  a 
good  and  pretty  girl,  with  little  sentiment,  and  no 
grace  except  the  inevitable  grace  of  extreme  youth. 

"  I  can't  borrow  my  models  all  winter,"  Hamor  said 
one  day  impatientl}'.  "Jeanne  is  commonplace,  as  a 
constant  study,  and  Victoria  stands  and  walks  like  a 
cow.  In  fact,  she  looks  like  a  cow.  If  I  ever  paint  her 
again,  I  shall  put  horns  above  those  placid  bovine  eyes, 
and  make  her  chewing  her  cud.  Really,  I  must  have  the 
Rodellec  girl." 

"Oh,  you  won't  get  her.  Everybody  has  tried, '^ 
Staunton  answered. 

"I  suppose  she  has  her  price,"  said  Hamor  carelessly. 

He  was  sure  that  Guenn  would  eventually  become  his 
upecial  model.     It  was  written      But  although  she  was 


92  GUENN. 

visible  everywhere,  bringing  life  and  laughter  in  her 
train,  she  was  thus  far  as  unapproachable  as  an  en- 
throned queen.  A  queen,  indeed,  though  encompassed 
b}'  guards  and  ceremonies,  is  a  stable  personage.  One 
knows,  at  least,  where  she  is ;  and  even  she  yields  to 
the  laws  of  etiquette,  and  respects  a  petition  presented 
in  proper  form.  But  Guenn  Rodellec  was  as  elusive  as 
running  water,  as  mobile  as  a  firefly.  A  seagull  on  the 
bay  knew  as  much  etiquette  as  she,  and  proper  forms 
she  would  have  laughed  to  scorn.  On  the  common, 
evenings,  her  clear  voice  led  the  girls'  chorus,  that  sang 
light-o'-love  songs  and  church  chants  almost  in  one 
breath.  Swift,  straight,  and  maidenly,  she  trod  the 
meadows  and  moss}^  wa^'s,  the  village  streets,  and  the 
shores  of  the  bay,  or,  her  great  basket  poised  on  her 
head,  the  shady  chemin  ereux ;  and  always  her  young 
lips  and  bold,  honest  ej'es  were  smiling  defiance  at  every 
stranger.  When  the  dusky  fleet  of  fishing-boats  came 
home,  Guenn  held  her  own  with  jest  and  repartee,  —  not 
alwa3's  of  the  most  delicate  flavor,  —  and,  among  the 
noisy  fish- wives  and  craft}' buyers,  made  shrewd  bargains 
for  Monsieur  Morot. 

Late  nights,  on  the  extremity  of  the  point,  as  the  last 
heavily  laden  boat  plashed  softly  by,  her  light  figure 
stood  poised  on  the  farthest  rock,  her  face  set  against 
the  wind,  all  the  soft  chestnut  rings  on  her  forehead 
fluttering  back,  and  her  eager  voice  hailing  the  pati'on. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Jacques." 

"  How  many?" 

"  Twenty  thousand." 

"  Morot  ofl'ers  fifteen  francs." 

''  Not  such  a  fool !  " 

"  Fool  if  you  don't !     They  're  going  at  fourteen." 


GUENN.  93 

Boat  glides  on.     The  girl  runs  along  the  rocks. 

"  Well,  patron,  do  you  sell  to  Morot?" 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Guenn  Rodellec." 

"  Is  it  the  truth  that  3'ou  say?" 

"  When  did  I  ever  lie?  You  are  late,  old  fellow  ;  but 
the  good  Morot  wiU  take  your  fish  at  fifteen  francs  the 
thousand.     Done  ?  " 

"  Done,  since  it  is  you,  Guenn  Rodellec."  And  when 
the  boat  nears  the  quay  the  buyers  shout  in  vain. 

Laughing  on  the  dunes  with  Jeanne  and  Nannie, 
working  with  the  older  women  in  the  usine,  fearless, 
bo3dsh,  sharp  as  any  gamin  forced  to  live  b}-  his  wits, 
with  a  rude  honest}^  that  did  not  even  recognize  tempta- 
tion, she  threw  her  whole  soul  into  the  occupation  of  the 
moment,  and  was,  whatever  she  did,  a  power  in  the 
place,  a  distinct  personality.  Even  Plouvenec,  upon 
occasion,  took  exception  to  her  manners,  her  pride,  her 
laughing  insolence  ;  but  wild  as  she  was,  running  loose 
among  rough  men  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  her 
purity  was  as  stainless  as  the  winter  snows  on  the 
summits  of  the  Montagues  Noires. 

Hamor  saw  her  everywhere,  brilliant,  buoyant,  a  ring- 
leader of  mischief.  Meeting  him  she  never  shunned  his 
gaze,  but  gave  him  one  hearty  scowl  of  recognition  and 
hostility,  then  pointedly  got  out  of  his  way.  She  looked 
so  handsome  with  the  carnation  color  mounting  to  her 
passionate  little  face,  her  blue  eyes  darkening,  and  her 
lips  curving  scornfullj^  that  Hamor  would  not  have  had 
it  otherwise.  But  he  began  to  ask  himself  how  long 
these  preliminaries  must  last.  If  he  should  force  cir- 
cumstances, he  would  endanger  his  plans.  He  could 
not  knock  at  her  door,  as  honest  Douglas  had  done,  and 
ingenuously  request  her  to  pose  for  him.     He  could  by 


94  GUENN. 

no  means  risk  the  public  refusal  accompanied  by  con- 
tumely, which  she  would  assuredly  bestow  upon  him, 
should  he  accost  her,  surrounded  b}'  her  satellites. 

"I  will  leave  it  to  time  and  chance,"  he  thought. 
"My  day  will  come.  The  more  indifferent  and  cau- 
tious my  approach,  the  more  surely  I  snare  my  wild- 
bird."  In  the  mean  time  he  took  pains  to  meet  her 
often,  and  always  looked  at  her  gravely  and  kindly, 
without  speaking.  In  her  presence  he  liked  to  discuss 
some  matter  of  the  studio  with  Jeanne,  who  was  proud 
of  her  association  with  him,  and  chattered  of  him 
continually. 

"Ah,  how  kind  he  is,  this  Monsieur  Hamor ! "  she 
said  one  daj^,  rapturousl}" ;  "  and  how  stupid  3'ou  are  not 
to  come  and  pose.  Think,  Guenn,  —  two  new  kerchiefs 
from  Quimper,  and  a  silver-and-blue  jacket !  " 

"  Kags  !"  remarked  Guenn  superb Ij'. 

"  And  bonbons  !  — Ah,  what  good  bonbons  !  " 

"Munch  them,"  said  her  laconic  companion. 

"  And  Monsieur  Hamor  is  so  gentil  and  so  gay.  He 
smiles  and  whistles,  and  sings  like  a  lark  !  Ah,  but  it 
is  lively  up  there ; "  and  Jeanne  gave  a  little  sigh,  re- 
membering the  intervals  of  solemnity  with  Monsieur 
Douglas  down  below.  "If  you  would  come  and  pose 
for  Monsieur  Hamor,  Guenn,  he  would  give  j'ou  a  new 
kerchief,"  she  said  disinterestedly,  "  or  lace  for  a  coiffe, 
or  even  a  gown  —  who  knows  ?  When  one  is  so  amia= 
ble  as  Monsieur  Hamor,  one  is  —  capable  de  tout !  " 

"  Tu  m'embetes,  Jeanne,"  Guenn  broke  out  passion- 
ately, "  with  your  Monsieur  Hamor  here,  and  Monsieur 
Hamor  there,  and  Monsieur  Hamor  everywhere  !  What 
is  he  to  me,  with  his  head  as  high  as  the  phare,  and  his 
eyes  seeing  everything  on  land  and  sea,  — along  the 
sands  and  the  dunes  and  far  out  on  the  bay,  —  and  smi- 


GUENN.  95 

ling,  smiling  to  himself  as  if  he  could  read  the  thoughts 
of  3'our  heart,  and  knew  more  than  the  angels  !  " 

"  Tiens  —  but  I  thought  3'ou  never  looked  at  him," 
said  Jeanne  innocentl3\ 

"Look  at  him?  Not  I,  indeed!  And  why  should  I 
look  at  him?  Do  I  look  at  the  phare,  and  do  I  not 
know  where  it  shines  ?  There  are  things  one  sees  with 
one's  eyes  shut,  my  stupid  little  Jeanne.  The  great 
oak  on  the  Beuzec  road  —  can  I  help  seeing  that,  even 
if  I  look  towards  Trevignan  ?  And  the  cliff  on  the  third 
beach,  where  poor  Yvonne  threw  herself  down,  and  they 
found  her  cold  and  dead  —  do  I  not  see  that,  and  the 
sun  on  the  waves  below,  where  it  shines  and  hurts  your 
ej^es?  That  is  how  he  smiles.  That  is  how  I  see  him. 
I  see  him  always,  —  wherever  I  go,  where  he  never 
was,  —  in  the  usine,  in  the  long  row  of  women,  —  when 
I  go  home  through  the  fields,  alone  under  the  stars,  by 
the  dolmen  where  it  is  so  still,  by  the  great  menhir, 
in  the  woods,  on  the  beach,  —  and  when  I  take  off 
my  coiffe  and  let  down  my  hair,  and  when  I  say  my 
prayers,  and  when  I  close  my  eyes,  and  when  I  sleep,  — 
always  and  everywhere,  with  his  high  head  and  his 
eyes  —  oh,  his  eyes  I     And  smiling,  smiling,  smiling  !  " 

"  Mon  dieu,  but  how  you  hate  him,  Guenn  !  " 

"  Ah  yes,  I  hate  him  well." 

*'  It  is  a  pity,"  said  little  Jeanne  simply  ;  "  he  is  so 
kind.  And,  Guenn,  he  is  not  so  tall  as  you  think. 
Monsieur  Douglas  is  taller.  And  as  for  the  phare  and 
the  Beuzec  oak,  —  well,  }■  on  are  a  funny  girl !  " 

"  It 's  all  the  same.  Tall  or  short,  I  hate  him.  He  's 
a  man." 

"  Oh  no,  Guenn,  he  is  not  a  man;  he  is  an  artist. 
It  is  quite  a  different  thing,"  Jeanne  said  gravely. 

"They  may  speak  soft,  but  they  are  men  all  the 


96  GUENN. 

same.  And  men  are  all  alike,  —  except  monsieur  le 
recteur  des  Lannions.  Men  get  drunk,  and  lie,  and 
beat  their  wives,  and  catch  a  few  fish,  and  boast  of  it, 
and  get  drunk  again.  I  hate  them.  There  's  onl}'  one 
man  in  the  world  who  is  n't  like  that,  and  he  is  the  rec- 
teur of  the  Lannions.     He  is  an  angel." 

"O  Guenn,  O  Guenn,  as  if  Monsieur  Hamor  would 
beat  his  wife,  unless,  indeed,  she  was  a  very  bad  one, 
like  Mother  Nives  :  and  a  man  would  have  to  beat  her, 
or  she  would  beat  him  ;  and  he  has  n't  any  wife  ;  he  is 
onl}"  a  jeuue  homme,  —  and  if  he  had  one,  it  would  n't 
be  a  bad  old  woman ;  so,  you  see,  he  would  n't  beat 
her  !  "  cried  Jeanne  in  triumphant  incoherence. 

Guenn  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  made  a  disdainful 
face. 

"Or  Monsieur  Douglas,  either,  though  he  is  as  sol- 
emn as  a  stone  image  in  the  graveyard.  Or  Monsieur 
Staunton,  even  if  he  does  act  as  if  his  model  was  a  bit  of 
the  shore  or  a  clump  of  heather  ;  and  it 's  a  wonder  to 
me  that  he  looks  at  us  enough  to  paint  us,  for  he  never 
seems  to  see  us  at  all.  But,  Guenn,  if  jow.  would  come 
and  pose,  3'ou  would  understand.  You  are  cleverer 
than  the  rest  of  us,  you  know.  It  would  n't  take  you 
long  to  find  them  out :  only,  joxx  don't  come,  and  so 
you  never  understand  that  messieurs  les  artistes  are  — 
different,"  Jeanne  concluded  with  a  somewhat  troubled 
look. 

"  Little  fool  that  5^ou  are  !  "  remarked  Guenn,  with, 
however,  nothing  offensive  in  her  tone  or  expression. 
In  Plouvenec  there  were  in  common  use  so  many  terms 
stronger  than  fool,  that  this  often  meant  only  affection 
and  endearment. 

"Well,  I  do  wish  3'ou  'd  come  with  me,  and  that's 
the  truth.     Why  are  you  always  so  cross  when  I  tell 


GUENN.  97 

you  about  the  atelier  ?  You  would  like  it  yourself.  J 
don't  see  wh}'  you  grow  so  cross.  Then  the  wa}^  you 
talk  about  men  !  Is  n't  Alain  a  man  ?  Don't  you  like 
Alain?" 

"Yes,"  said  Guenn,  smiling  frankly,  "of  course  I 
like  Alain.  I  like  to  dance  with  Alain.  Ma  foi,  how 
we  danced  at  the  Betizec  Pardon  !  "  And  she  hummed 
the  gavotte. 

"Once  I  heard  you  say  that  you  were  ghrieuse 
of  our  Plouvenec  sailors,  that  you  wished  you  were  a 
sailor  in  a  storm,"  Jeanne  went  on  reproachfully. 

' '  But  a  sailor  in  a  storm  at  sea,  and  a  sailor  drunk 
on  shore  —  ah,  Jeanne!  Then,  I  said  it  last  week, 
and  yesterday  is  not  to-day."  Guenn  laughed  per- 
versely. "To-day  I  hate  all  men  except  three," 
counting  on  her  fingers:  "  Thj'mert,  because  he  igf 
an  angel ;  Monsieur  Louis,  because  he  is  good  to 
Thymert ;  Alain,  because  he  dances  the  gavotte  like 
the  wind,  —  like  the  southwest  wind  !  "  and  she  hummed 
and  danced  in  gay  remembrance,  —  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  smiling  brightly. 

"  And  I  tell  you,  Guenn,  that  Monsieur  Hamor  is  so 
amiable  that "  —  Guenn  put  her  hands  over  her  ears, 
singing  as  loud  as  she  could,  — 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere/* 

thereby  shutting  out  the  rest  of  Jeanne's  unwelcome 
remark,  with  the  exception  of  certain  disjointed  words 
like  kerchiefs  —  coiffe  —  bonbons,  which  plainly  told  the 
oft-repeated  stor3\ 

Guenn  turned  fiercel3\ 

"  Tu  m'ennuies,  I  tell  you  !  Will  you  never  stop?" 
She  looked  angrily  at  Jeanne,  who  in  her  turn  was  some* 
what    sullen.     Then    Guenn    laughed.     "Little    fool. 

7 


98  GUENN. 

How  stupid  you  are  !  But  I  like  you  all  the  same. 
Vo3'ons,"  she  began  impressively,  "let  us  be  reason- 
able. I  am  tired  of  your  Monsieur  Hamor,  —  don't 
you  see,  my  little  Jeanne?  He  wearies  me.  Can't 
you  understand  ? "  drooping  her  eyeUds  like  a  lan- 
guid marquise.  "He  is  of  as  much  importance  as" 
—  she  paused  to  find  an  object  sufficiently  mean  to 
express  Monsieur  Hamor's  insignificance,  suddenly 
threw  her  right  foot  surprisingly  far  forward,  point- 
ing at  it  with  a  disdainful  finger  —  "as  m}^  old  sabots  ! 
There,  my  little  Jeanne  !  "  With  a  fine  air  of  indiflfer- 
ence  she  folded  her  arms  across  her  breast,  and  stood 
smiling  at  her  friend. 

This  was  unanswerable.  Jeanne  had  a  confused  im- 
pression that  Guenn  had  been  saying  very  strange 
things,  but  Guenn  alwa^'s  said  strange  things ;  and  as 
for  trying  to  persuade  her  when  she  did  not  choose  to 
be  persuaded,  —  well,  one  might  as  well  ask  the  digue 
to  dance  a  gavotte.  Jeanne  did  not  pretend  to  be  very 
clever,  but  she  knew  that  when  Guenn  Rodellec  hated 
anybody,  as  she  hated  this  amiable  Monsieur  Hamor, 
enough  had  been  said  for  one  day.  There  was  danger  in 
pursuing  a  subject  which  Guenn  had  closed  in  this  lofty 
manner.  Smiling  superbty,  the  scorned  sabot  —  em- 
blem of  baseness  —  still  extended  as  far  as  she  could 
reach,  Guenn  calmlj^  waited  until  Jeanne  should  relapse 
into  her  usual  state  of  blind  loj'alty,  from  which  only  the 
influence  of  the  hated  stranger  could  ever  have  led  this 
sweet-tempered  and  willing  subject.  Jeanne  raised  her 
eyebrows,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  dropped  both  arms, 
and  said  nothing.  Guenn  accepted  the  pantomime  of 
submission. 

She  was  masterful,  but  generous.  "  Come,"  she  said 
graciously,  "  let  us  go  down  to  the  wall  with  the  others. 


GUENN,  yy 

Let  us  amuse  ourselves.  There 's  Mother  Nives  in  no 
end  of  a  temper,  and  Victoria 's  got  a  new  coiffe." 

"  What  strong  eyes  you  have,"  said  her  vassal 
admiringlj^ 

"  Yes,  thanks  to  the  bon  dieu,"  was  Guenn's  pious 
and  satisfied  rejoinder  ;  "  they  are  very  good  eyes  to  see 
with.  Let  us  race  to  the  walL  Jeanne,  wait.  Start 
fair  —  one,  two,  three  !  " 


CHAPTEE  VII. 


"  "pASSEUR  !  "  called  Hamor,  standing  by  the  ferry- 
-I^  wa3^  where  no  boat  appeared.  "  Passeur  !  "  he 
cried  again  impatientlj^,  looking  up  and  down  the  shore. 
The  water  plashed  against  the  steps  hewn  in  the  solid 
rock.  Opposite,  by  the  low  walls  and  towers  on  the 
island,  pale-blue  nets,  hght  as  air,  stirred  in  the  breeze. 
Hamor  put  down  with  some  emphasis  his  easel,  camp- 
stool,  palette,  and  unsatisfactory  sketch,  and  shouted 
with  the  whole  force  of  his  excellent  lungs,  "  Passeur  !  " 
From  a  curve  in  the  shore  just  below,  a  broad  scow  came 
slowly  into  view,  but  no  gra^'-bearded  ferryman  stood  in 
the  stern.  A  girl  with  a  white  coiffe,  a  red  kerchief,  a 
lightly  swaying  figure,  brought  the  boat  well  up  to  the 
steps,  and  waited  suUenl}'  while  Hamor  collected  his 
belongings  and  stepped  in. 

"Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  —  " 
What  life  was,  in  her  opinion,  she  had  not  deigned  to 
communicate.     The  moment  she  saw  Hamor  she  stopped 
short  in  her  gay  song. 


guenn:  Wi ' 

*'Guenn  Kodellec,  by  all  that's  lucky!  Here's  my 
chance ! " 

He  accosted  her  civilly  enough  but  indifferently,  seat- 
ing himself,  and  examining  his  sketch  with  an  absorbed 
air.  Now  there  was  nothing  whatever  of  interest  to 
him  in  that  sketch.  He  had  fully  made  up  his  mind 
about  it,  and  in  all  probabiUty  would  paint  over  it  the 
next  day.  Like  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  he  could  often 
say,  selling  a  painting :  ' '  There  are  six  pictures  on 
that  canvas,  some  better,  some  worse  than  the  one  you 
see." 

He  had  been  working  five  hours,  studying  an  effect 
of  sand  and  sterile  grass,  which  he  wished  to  produce 
in  a  large  composition.  His  sketch,  in  itself,  he  consid- 
ered a  failure,  but  as  a  study  it  was  useful.  He  had 
learned  something  to  avoid.  Hamor  was  tired,  and  not 
in  his  most  agreeable  mood.  The  boy  who  should  have 
carried  his  effects  had  disappointed  him.  His  sketch 
was  unsatisfactory,  and  sand  and  sun  had  made  his 
eyes  ache.  Waiting  for  the  passeur  had  also  not  had  a 
soothing  influence.  But  seeing  Guenn  Rodellec  tete-a- 
tete  with  him,  sculling  his  boat,  he  forgot  all  his  vexa- 
tions, and  gloried  in  his  good  fortune. 

Guenn's  sole  response  to  his  greeting  was  a  stare 
and  a  scowl.  Hamor  continued  to  regard  his  sketch 
assiduously. 

"Where's  the  passeur?"  he  at  length  demanded 
abruptly,  as  if  not  wholly  content  with  the  present 
arrangement. 

"  Drunk,"  was  the  laconic  answer. 

"  What,  drunker?"  said  Hamor,  with  a  smile. 

No  reply. 

"  But  he 's  a  very  good  fellow,  the  old  passeur." 

Still  utter  silence.     Evidently  light  conversation  was 


102  GUENN. 

not  acceptable  to  his  companion.  She  sculled  easily, 
with  a  practised  hand.  Her  cheeks  glowed  with  a  fresh- 
rose  brightness.  Her  e3'es  were  full  of  light  and  life. 
Dark  veins  around  them  cast  a  deep  violet  shade,  and 
made  them  look  even  larger  than  they  were.  Her  beau- 
.tiful,  defiant  face,  her  rich  color,  and  every  lovel}'  line 
fof  her  figure  in  its  free  motions,  gave  Hamor  exquisite 
pleasure.  He  would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to 
have  this  charming  angry  little  person  continue  for 
hours  to  scull  him  across  and  up  and  down  those  pleas- 
ant waters,  scowling  and  flushing  and  throwing  herself 
into  the  most  bewitching  poses.  But  there  rose  the 
island  ramparts,  and  directly  her  forced  voyage  would 
be  over.  He  had  already  lost  much  time.  She  was 
working  fast,  the  pauses  had  been  long,  and  as  j^et  he 
had  made  no  headway. 

"Did  they  come  for  you  because  the  passeur  could 
not  row?" 

"Yes." 

"And  3'ou  are  always  ready  to  do  a  stupid  man's 
work  for  him,  when  he  can't  do  it  himself  ?  " 

"No." 

Hamor  did  not  venture  to  smile  in  the  presence  of  so 
much  savage  dignit3^  Truly,  she  was  a  most  diflScult 
person  to  aborder.  When  she  spoke,  she  lifted  her  eyes 
and  looked  straight  into  his  ;  then  ignored  his  presence 
completely.  Thus  far  he  had  succeeded  in  extracting 
three  monosjilables  from  her  compressed  lips.  This 
would  never  do. 

"  Guenn,"  he  said  very  gently. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  a  startled  look.  Until  to-day 
he  had  never  actually  spoken  to  her  since  the  few  words 
on  the  beach  that  first  evening.  Now  his  tone  was  sug- 
gestive of  old  acquaintance,  of  perfect  understanding. 


GUENN.  103 

No  one  in  the  world  had  ever  said  Guenn  like  that.    He 
was  smiling,  too,  —  the  smile  she  knew  so  well. 

"Guenn,"  he  repeated,  "let  us  be  sensible.  Why 
should  you  and  I  quarrel?  You  know  I  want  you  to 
pose  for  me.  Will  j^ou  not  come,  Guenn?  I  will  give 
3'ou  fifty  francs  a  month,  and  Jeanne  has  already  told 
you  I  don't  make  it  too  hard  work." 

"  No  !  "  she  cried  vehemently,  turning  her  back  upon 
him. 

"  And  why  not?"  he  continued  in  the  same  kind  tone. 

"  Because  I  won't." 

"Ah!  That's  a  very  good  reason.  It's  settled 
then,  I  suppose."  After  a  moment:  "  But,  in  spite  of 
3'our  insurmountable  objections  to  coming  yourself, 
would  you  mind  asking  your  little  brother  to  come  and 
see  me  some  time  ?  " 

' '  What  do  you  want  of  my  Nannie  ? "  The  girl 
wheeled,  and  looked  at  him  angrily. 

"I  don't  know  3^et,"  Hamor  said  with  his  pleasant 
intonation,  as  if  unconscious  of  her  suspicion  and  wrath. 
"  Possibl}^  not  much  of  anything.  I  only  thought  I'd 
like  him  to  come  in.  He  seems  to  be  a  nice  boy.  I 
like  children.     They  like  me  usually." 

Guenn  scanned  him  sharph\  He  was  looking  bej^ond 
her,  at  the  walls  and  the  boats  which  they  were  approach- 
ing,—  leaning  back  easilj^,  a  harmless,  amiable  smile  on 
his  handsome  face. 

"Nannie  is  a  very  nice  bo}',"  the  j^oung  girl  said, 
with  a  mixture  of  timidity  and  aud,acity. 

"  So  I  have  thought." 

"  He  knows  more  than  other  boys,"  —  always  watch- 
ing Hamor^  who  bore  the  scrutiny  unmoved,  steadily 
wearing  the  same  look  of  smiling  unconscious  benevo' 
lence,  —  "he  knows  things  beforehand." 


104  GUENN. 

"  Ah,'  murmured  Hamor  appreciatively. 

Guenn  nodded  gravel}^,  and  seemed  lost  in  contem- 
plation of  her  brother's  genius.  "If  he  won't  come,  he 
won't,"  she  announced  at  length. 

Hamor  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  That  seems  to 
be  a  family  trait ;  "  but  he  feared  to  rouse  the  sleeping 
lion,  and  prudently  replied:  "I  should  be  sorry  if  he 
would  n't  come.     I  have  alwaj^s  hoped  that  he  would." 

Guenn  looked  at  him  with  gi'ave  comprehension. 

"Would  he  be  afraid  to  come,  do  you  think?" 
Hamor  asked. 

Guenn  leaned  on  her  great  oar  and  stared  at  him  with 
her  charming  blue  eyes.  "Afraid?  Nannie  Rodellec 
afraid?" 

She  threw  back  her  head,  and  laughed  the  most  deli- 
cious laugh  Hamor  had  ever  heard.  "  Nannie  afraid? 
O  mon  dieu !  O  mon  dieu ! ''  Again  came  her  free 
laughter,  —  wild,  sweet,  irresistible. 

So  few  people  —  children  excepted  —  laugh  well  when 
they  laugh  heartily.  A  suggestion  of  latent  coarseness 
or  latent  weakness  seems  to  spring  from  parted  lips,  like 
the  frog  from  the  girl's  mouth  in  the  fair3^-tale.  Hamor 
had  been  so  ungallant  as  to  privately'  make  this  observa- 
tion in  the  presence  of  charming  women.  "  Why,  this 
is  a  fine  laagh,"  he  thought,  and  listened  critical!}'  as  to 
an  upper  (7,  —  "  a  perfectly'  fine  laugh."  It  was  pure 
mirth  and  pure  music.  It  gave  him  a  positive  pleasure. 
He  found  himself  laughing  with  her. 

"  Well,  are  you  laughing  at  me,  Guenn? "  he  said  in- 
dulgently. He  had  reason  to  repent  of  his  fatuit}- .  Her 
face  sobered  instantly,  as  her  thoughts  reverted  from 
Nannie  to  the  painter.  Something  was  wrong.  Had  he 
seemed  too  intimate  ?  Was  it  because  he  had  laughed 
too? 


GUENN.  105 

"No,"  she  answered,  with  the  familiar  scowl,  "I 
don't  know  you." 

' '  And  in  Plouvenec  does  one  have  to  know  a  person 
before  one  laughs  at  him  ?  Is  that  Breton  manners  ?  I 
must  say  I  think  it's  very  good  manners,"  he  remarked 
quite  inoffensive^. 

The  color  flamed  up  in  her  face,  and  her  voice  vibrated 
with  anger. 

''It's  manners  in  Bretagne  to  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness, and  not  to  go  round  making  fun  of  folks  that  do 
the  best  they  can  to  keep  out  of  3^our  way."  With  a 
splendid  movement  she  swung  the  boat  against  the 
smooth,  worn  rocks,  and  stood  waiting  for  Hamor  to 
step  out. 

He  seated  himself  still  more  comfortably,  and  watched 
her  closely.  No  one  was  in  their  neighborhood  except 
a  small  and  nearly  bare  boy,  who  frantically  offered  to 
dive  for  a  sou,  or  perform  any  other  natatory  feat  which 
monsieur  would  find  agreeable.  "  Swim  across  to  the 
other  shore,  and  from  there  down  to  the  great  ship, 
and  I  '11  give  you  ten  sous.  See,  I  will  put  it  here,"  and 
he  deposited  fifty  centimes  in  a  crevice  of  the  rock. 
"  And  mind  it  is  fine  swimming  that  I  want,  not  fast 
swimming.  You  can  stop  and  float  by  the  way,  if  you 
like.     Allez  !  "     Splash  went  the  boy. 

"  She 's  in  my  clutches  now  fast  enough,"  he  reflected 
cruelly.  "  She  can't  leave  the  boat,  and  she  can't  very 
well  put  me  out."  He  sat  still  until  she  turned  her 
head  impatiently  and  looked  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 
Their  eyes  met. 

"Voyons,  Guenn,"  he  said  gravely.  "This  is  the 
second  time  that  you  have  made  that  not  too  amiable 
remark  to  me." 

"  And  what  is  it  to  you  whether  I  am  amiable  or 


106  GUENN. 

not?  "  she  demanded,  —  facing  him,  since  the  encounter 
was  unavoidable,  with  a  desperate  courage.  "  Amiable  ? 
What  is  amiable  ?  And  are  3'ou  m}'  confessor  ?  Who 
are  you,  any  wa}"?"  she  said  violenth^  "  To  me,  3'ou 
are  nothing  and  nobody !  "  A  gallant  charge,  thought 
Hamor. 

"  I  cannot  deny  that  there  is  a  certain  justice  in 
what  you  say,  Guenn,"  he  began  with  much  gentleness. 
^' You  are  at  home.  T  am  the  intruder.  You  ask  me 
who  I  am.  I  am  only  a  painter,  with  no  interest  bej'ond 
my  art.  I  go  wherever  it  leads  me.  I  do  whatever  it 
bids  me.  I  care  for  nothing  else.  I  may  be  personally 
disagreeable  to  you.  As  you  say,  that  is  3'our  affair. 
Certainl}^  I  claim  no  right  to  criticise  5'our  manners  or 
your  temper.  But  on  the  other  hand,  how  have  I  ever 
injured  you?  Tell  me,  Guenn,  what  have  I  done? 
Have  I  sought  you,  followed  you,  troubled  you  by  word 
or  look?  Have  I  ever  spoken  to  3^ou,  except  that  first 
time  and  to-day  ?  And  was  it  m}^  fault  that  the  women 
were  teasing  3'ou  on  the  beach  ?  Is  it  m^^  fault  that  I 
have  eyes,  and  that  I  saw  3^our  beautiful  hair  ?  Is  it 
my  fault  that  the  passeur  is  drunk?  Come,  come, 
Guenn,  be  sage.  Songez  done.  — Why  is  not  Jeanne 
here  to-day?  Why  is  it  you?  Surel}-,  I  am  not 
responsible." 

"  Why  is  it  me?"  repeated  Guenn  slowly. 

"  Now  this  is  an  intelligent  girl,"  thought  Hamor. 
*'  You  can  appeal  to  her  sense  and  frankness.  She's  a 
hard  little  thing,  but  she  's  fond  of  her  brother.  That 's 
where  she 's  vulnerable.  I  have  never,  to  my  knowledge, 
given  mj^self  so  much  trouble  for  any  model.  And  as 
for  talking  reason  to  them  —  bah !  they  are  too  betes. 
But  this  child  is  made  of  different  material." 

He    had    taken    his    sketch-book  from   his   pocket 


GUENN.  107 

Guenn  stood,  slowlj^  rocking  the  boat.  He  was  trying 
to  catch  the  pretty  swaying  motion  of  her  waist  and 
hips.  "  What  a  creature  !  All  grace  and  fire  !  I  will 
paint  her  so,  —  life-size,  in  this  old  scow,  leaning  on 
the  oar  larger  than  herself;  the  granite  walls,  one  of 
these  fishing-boats,  the  cloudy  nets  along  the  masts, 
the  steps  cut  in  the  rock,  slimy  and  wet ;  the  girl 
looking  straight  before  her  into  3'our  eyes." 

Hamor  had  an  unusuall}'  agreeable  voice,  which  often 
seemed  to  be  curiousty  independent  of  his  mental  con- 
dition. It  was  cordial  and  winning,  when  his  soul  was 
wear}"  and  indifferent.  It  possessed  tender  modula- 
tions, of  which  it  made  liberal  use  to  all  women,  the 
worthy  and  the  unworth}^,  the  just  and  the  unjust.  He 
gave  no  heed  to  the  final  consequences  of  tones,  which 
another  man  might  use  once  in  a  lifetime,  and  to  one 
only. 

"  Guenn,"  he  said,  slipping  his  book  into  his  pocket, 
having  half  caught  the  pose  he  Hked,  and  filled  in  his 
cabalistic  scratches  for  walls,  drooping  foliage,  masts, 
nets,  and  atmosphere,  "have  you  nothing  to  say  to 
me?  I  am  sure  you  have  courage  enough  to  say  any- 
thing. Tell  me  honestly,  what  have  I  done  ?  Wh}^  are 
you  angry  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  away  to  the  end  of  the  world 
and  never  come  back  again,  and  that's  what  I  have  to 
sa}"  to  you."     Her  voice  trembled  with  passion. 

"  Well,  I  shall  some  time,"  he  said  consolingly. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  now." 

"Why,  Guenn?" 

She  flung  her  arms  up  with  a  little  desperate  move- 
ment and  let  them  fall. 

"Because  they  all  like  you,"  she  cried.  "Jeanne 
likes  you.     Monsieur  Morot  likes  you.     Mother  Quaper 


108  GUENN. 

likes  3^ou.  Madame  at  the  Voyageurs,  and  the  carpen- 
ter, and  the  locksmith,  and  the  sailors  —  " 

"And  the  goodl}'  fellowship  of  the  prophets  and  the 
noble  army  of  mart3TS,"  Hamor  murmured  irreverently 
in  English,  to  complete  the  roll-call. 

"•  What  is  it?"  she  asked  suspiciously. 

''Oh,  nothing,  —  only  you  gratify  me.  I  was  not 
aware  of  my  popularity.     Is  there  anybody  else?  " 

"Yes,  there  is,"  she  said  sullenly,  hesitating. 

"  What  possesses  the  girl?  Can  it  be  a  general  ob- 
jection to  hearing  Aristides  called  the  Just?  This  is 
reall}'  amusing." 

"Well?"  he  said  gently. 

"Monsieur  le  recteur  des  Lannions,  and  my  Nan- 
nie, —  my  Nannie,"  she  repeated  with  a  strange  distress 
in  her  voice  and  ej'es. 

"Now  I  am  glad  to  know  that,"  Hamor  returned 
cordially.  ' '  I  know  the  cure.  I  admire  him  immensely. 
I  consider  him  an  extraordinary  man.  And  your 
brother,  as  I  have  already  said,"  he  added  gravely, 
"is,  I  imagine,  an  extraordinary  boj".  And  how  does 
he  happen  to  know  me,  — your  Nannie?  " 

"Oh,  he  knows  you,"  she  muttered;  "he  knows 
everybody.     He  knows  everything." 

' '  Tant  mieux.    And  so  all  these  good  people  like  me  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  said."  She  moved  the  great  oar 
uneasil}'  to  and  fro  and  looked  down  into  the  water  with 
troubled  eyes. 

"Do  you  like  them?" 

"  Yes.  They  are  my  people.  I  love  my  people,"  she 
answered  very  gentl3\ 

Hamor  thought  this  was  charmingly  said. 

"  Now,  shall  I  tell  you  who  does  not  like  me?  Old 
Mother  Nives  —  " 


GUENN,  109 

Guenn  looked  interested  and  nodded  assent. 

"  And  3'our  father  and  you." 

She  started  violently,  giving  him  a  glance  of  angry 
reproach.  Guenn  never  mentioned  her  father's  name. 
iNo  one  knew  how  she  felt  towards  him. 

Hamor  went  on  unconsciously,  in  the  kindest  voice  i 
*' You'd  better  come  over  to  the  other  side,  Guenn, 
The  company,  in  the  first  place,  is  more  suited  to  you. 
Then  there  is  another  reason.  I  like  you.  I  shall 
always  like  you.  It  is  n't  exactly  fair  to  be  so  severe 
with  me.  Think  about  it,  will  you  not?"  he  said, 
laughing  a  little.  He  rose  and  stood  near  her.  If  it 
had  been  Jeanne,  and  Jeanne  was  a  good  little  girl,  he 
would  have  patted  her  shoulder.  But  at  that  moment 
he  no  more  presumed  to  lay  a  familiar  finger  on  Guenn 
Rodellec  than  on  the  grandest  grande  dame  of  his  ac- 
quaintance. In  her  patched  skirts  and  wooden  shoes, 
her  small  coarse  hands  nervously  working  the  ferry- 
man's heavy  oar,  her  heart  fluttering  like  a  frightened 
bird's,  her  eyes  dilating  as  she  raised  them  to  his  hand- 
some face,  Guenn  was  unapproachable. 

"  How  near  he  is  !  How  tall  he  is  !  How  he  smiles 
and  smiles !  "  thought  the  girl.  She  turned  her  head 
desperately.     There  was  no  escape. 

"  Will  you  go?  "  she  said  harshly. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  am  going  now."  He  dropped  the  pennies 
for  the  passeur  into  her  hand.  "  I  must  go,  in  fact,  if 
I  hope  to  escape  before  Leander  comes  back.  I  see  he 
is  pointing  this  way.  He  '11  shake  himself  like  a  New- 
foundland dog,  and  he  '11  want  some  more  sous.  I 
have  n't  any  more,  Guenn." 

"  That  boy's  name  is  Kadoc,"  Guenn  said  gloomUy. 

Hamor  smiled  at  her  as  if  he  loved  her,  she  was  so 
pretty.     He  laid  his  hands  on  the  oar.      They  were 


110  GUENN. 

long,  well-shaped  hands  with  narrow  nails.  Guenn's 
nails  were  stubbed  and  broken  and  gray.  She  was  too 
proud  and  too  simple  to  withdraw  her  hands,  but  she 
saw  the  difference.  Wild  little  Breton  fisher-girl  as  she 
was,  she  was  3'et  a  woman.  Never  in  her  life  before 
had  she  been  ashamed  or  even  aware  of  any  deficiency 
in  her  toilette.  Now,  as  she  looked,  she  was  uncom- 
fortable. 

Hamor  for  his  part  was  thinking:  "Well,  it's  all 
a  matter  of  habit.  The  ugliest  woman  can  take  care  of 
her  hands,  and  a  fool  can  wield  a  nail-brush.  But  who 
can  teach  a  girl  to  stand  as  this  girl  stands  —  to  look  as 
she  does  ?  " 

"It  is  very  heavy,"  he  said;  "I  wonder  that  you 
can  manage  it,  3^ou  are  so  small  and  light." 

"  I  prefer  to  be  small,"  she  returned  haughtily,  as  if 
her  size  were  a  thing  she  had  personall}'  arranged  with 
the  powers  of  nature.     "  Big  women  are  ugly." 

"  They  are,  sometimes,"  Hamor  said  gravely. 

She  was  looking  steadily  down  on  the  four  hands, 
side  by  side  on  the  great  oar. 

Still  he  did  not  go.  Still  she  felt  him  near.  It 
seemed  to  her  no  one  had  ever  been  so  near  her. 

"  Good-by,  Guenn.  Don't  forget  to  ask  Nannie  to 
come  to  my  studio.    You  will  come  too,  perhaps?" 

"  No,  I  won't !  "  she  exclaimed  hotly. 

"By  the  way,  why  do  3'ou  suppose  I  want  yo\x  to 
pose  for  me  ?  " 

Guenn  had  the  courage  of  her  convictions. 

"  Because  I  am  pretty,"  she  answered. 

"  Exactly,"  Hamor  returned  rather  meekly.  "I  was 
not  aware  that  you  knew  it." 

"  Why  should  I  not?  "  the  girl  rejoined  indifferently. 
"Everybody  says  I  am  the  prettiest  girl  in  Plouvenec." 


GUENN.  Ill 

''  And  you  think  so  yourself  ?  "  He  could  not  resist 
investigating  this  new  phase  of  maidenly  unconscious- 
ness.   For  unconscious  she  seemed,  in  spite  of  her  words. 

"Well,  yes  —  "  and  Guenn  honestly  considered  the 
subject.     ' '  Annaic  was  the  prettiest,  but  she 's  gone  off." 

"And  what  made  Annaic  go  off?"  asked  Hamor 
sympathetically,  somewhat  in  doubt  as  to  whether  the 
person  in  question  had  emigrated  to  America,  or  simply 
faded  in  comeliness. 

"  Children,"  said  Guenn  bluntly. 

"  Ah  !  "     Hamor  was  extremely  amused. 

"  Children,"  resumed  Guenn  with  a  philosophical  air, 
"make  you  go  off  as  soon  as  anything.  Still  some 
people  are  born  to  be  pretty,  and  pretty  they  will  be 
whatever  happens.  Annaic  will  come  up  again,"  — 
she  smiled  with  evident  satisfaction,  showing  all  her 
square  white  little  teeth,  —  "  Oh  yes,  surely  !  " 

Hamor  was  well  pleased  with  his  interview.  The 
girl  had  her  prejudices  still,  no  doubt.  But  she  had 
certainly  grown  more  accustomed  to  him.  She  had 
volunteered  bits  of  information.  She  had  not  hesitated 
to  express  her  opinions.  She  had  stood  near  him  all 
this  time,  both  swinging  the  same  oar.  He  must  be 
content. 

"Guenn,"  he  said  in  the  tone  that  made  her  feel 
so  strangely,  "  I  must  really  go  now.  Leander  Kadoc 
is  almost  here." 

He  observed  that  she  was  of  an  enthusiastic  nature 
and  had  lost  herself  in  the  subject  of  Annaic's  charms. 
Now  she  was  studying  his  hands  curiously. 

"  You  don't  like  me  yet?" 

Ah,  how  near  he  was  with  his  beautiful  smiUng  face ! 
She  longed  to  scream  or  run  away.  When  he  said 
Guenn,  like  that,  she  had  no  more  strength. 


112  GUENN, 

"I  hate  you!" 

"  Still?  Never  mind.  Some  day,  when  jovl  pose 
for  me  you  will  like  me  very  much.  You  will  pose  so 
uncommonly  well,  Guenn." 

He  almost  laid  his  firm  long  hand  on  hers,  but  this 
seemed  to  him,  upon  the  whole,  unwise.  He  slowly 
gathered  together  his  belongings.  When  he  painted 
her  he  must  be  careful  of  that  violet  tone  under  her 
eyes.     Peach-black  might  do. 

"  Good-by,  Guenn."  He  walked  up  the  rocky  way 
a  few  steps,  then  turned  and  nodded  to  her  kindty  as 
if  there  were  a  perfect  understanding  between  them. 
She  was  looking  back. 

''Passeur"  came  faintl}-  from  the  opposite  shore. 
A  couple  of  impatient  artists  waited  long,  while  Guenn 
sculled  wearily  across. 

There  were  hot  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  a  strange 
heaviness  on  her  heart.  Wherever  she  looked,  she 
saw  his  face.     "  Guenn  !  "  said  the  caressing  voice. 

She  turned  her  head  involuntarily.  Already  a  long 
stretch  of  water  lay  between  her  and  the  shore.  She 
saw  only  the  slimy  steps  of  the  ferry-waj^,  the  boats  on 
either  side  with  the  slowly  waving  nets,  the  heavy  walls 
behind  the  narrow  gateway  opening  upon  the  one 
street  that  led  across  the  island  between  the  high  old 
houses.  He  was  gone.  He  had  reached  the  other 
gateway  and  the  drawbridge  perhaps.  He  was  smil- 
ing at  the  children  playing  games  on  the  common.  If 
she  need  not  see  his  smile !  If  she  need  not  hear  his 
voice!  ''Guenn!"  it  murmured  with  its  lingering 
tone. 

She  stamped  her  foot,  and  sculled  with  all  her 
strength.  "  I  hate  him  !  "  she  said,  brushing  the  tears 
roughly  from  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


EANWHILE  Hamor  had  by 
no  means  forgotten  the  cure 
of  the  Lannions.  While 
utilizing  the  baser  material 
that  lay  near  him,  the  car- 
penter, the  tired  little  wo- 
man in  the  window,  and 
the  various  models  who  clat- 
tered up  and  down  the  stair- 
way between  him  and  his 
friends, — as  he  said,  like 
Jacob's  angels  in  sabots, — his  fancy  saw  a  great 
picture  growing  under  his  eager  hand,  and  Thymert's 
remarkable  presence  inspiring  his  noblest  effort.  He 
had  embodied  his  idea  in  half  a  dozen  ebauches, 
and  his  restless  imagination  had  thrown  the  uncon- 
scious priest  into  a  score  of  striking  compositions, 
none  of  which  even  in  embryo  satisfied  him.  "I 
must  study  the  man,"  he  thought,  "  live  with  him,  have 
him  for  my  daily  bread.  If  I  could  paint  him  as  he 
looked  that  night  in  the  crowd  of  roughs,  strong  and 
imperious,  with  the  lantern-light  shining  on  him, — but 
that  does  not  paint  itself  easily." 

In  his  secret  soul,  he  felt  it  to  be  an  injustice  that 
the  world  was  not  chartered   outright  to  the  guild  of 

8 


114  GUENN. 

painters.  Whj-  need  artists  experience  delay  or  em- 
barrassment in  tlie  mere  assembling  of  their  animate 
or  inanimate  tools?  Now  if  he  could,  without  more 
ado,  kidnap  Guenn  Rodellec  and  command  Thymert  to 
present  himself  ?  He  would  have  them  both  in  time. 
He  had  discovered  them.  They  belonged  to  him.  It 
was  his  immovable  intention  to  perpetuate  them  on 
canvas.  But  he  objected  to  the  slow  and  cautious 
approach  which  he  nevertheless  recognized  as  an  imper- 
ative condition  of  success.  However,  amiabilit}^  would 
be  apt  to  win,  and  Hamor  knew  that  he  was  nothing  if 
not  amiable.  He  undertook,  then,  to  pay  his  promised 
visit  to  the  Lannions.  Late  one  Saturday  night,  he 
suggested  it  to  his  friends.  Staunton  and  Douglas 
agreed  to  accompany  him.  They  would  start  early, 
they  said,  and  make  a  da}^  of  it. 

It  was,  in  fact,  very  early  the  next  morning  as  the 
two  young  men  stood  by  the  wet  parapet,  waiting  for 
Hamor.  The  mists  had  not  yet  hfted,  and  the  quay 
and  boats  and  atmosphere  seemed  fairl}'  dripping  with 
moisture.  A  few  sailors  hung  about,  sleep  still  linger- 
ing in  their  heavy  limbs.  Through  the  fog  the  masts 
looked  like  a  spectral  forest. 

Hamor  was  a  person  who  frequently  allowed  his 
friends  to  wait  for  him,  and  when  their  patience  was 
nearly  exhausted,  he  would  finally  appear  in  an  imper- 
turbable good-humor  which  incensed  them  more  deeply. 
He  had  so  many  kind  things  to  say  to  people  to  whom 
he  was  utterly  indifferent ;  he  stopped  so  often  on  the 
wa}',  to  give  a  caress  to  a  child,  and  a  glance  that  was 
no  less  a  caress  to  its  mother,  or  to  make  a  remark  full 
of  bonhommie  and  grace  to  the  most  sullen  old  rascal 
on  the  village  streets,  — that  his  friends  had  occasion  to 
regret  his  exceeding  popularity. 


GUENN.  115 

This  morning,  after  telling  Staunton  and  Douglas 
that  he  would  be  along  directly,  he  had  run  over  to  his 
studio  for  his  sketch-book.  The  tired  little  woman 
had  descended  from  her  window,  and  as  he  came  through 
the  great  arch,  she  stood  by  the  stairway  leading  up 
to  her  habitation,  a  modest  picture  of  appeaUng  femine- 
ity,  wrapped  in  an  old  green  shawl.  He  was  not  the 
man  to  refuse  her  the  comfort  of  a  morning  chat.  The 
conversation  on  her  part  grew  historical  and  confidingly 
genealogical.  It  took  root  in  Quimper  and  spread 
its  branches  liberally  over  other  towns.  Hamor  listen- 
ing to  her,  his  kind  face  bent  down  sUghtly,  speaking 
now  and  then  in  his  gentlest  tone,  was  technically 
observant  of  the  sudden  resurrection  of  youth  in  her 
faded  cheeks  and  dull  ej-es.  This  degree  of  juvenility 
might  be  expressed  with  rose  madder,  he  decided. 

Meanwhile  Staunton  and  Douglas  paced  up  and  down 
the  quay,  from  the  common  to  the  digue,  from  the 
digue  to  the  common,  their  coats  snugly  buttoned 
across  their  chests,  their  collars  turned  up  to  their  ears, 
their  hands  in  their  trousers  pockets.  Perhaps  the 
October  air  on  the  pleasant  Breton  coast  had  not  the 
bitter  chill  which  these  precautions  seemed  to  imply ; 
but,  when  we  make  unnecessary  sacrifices  for  our  friends, 
we  like  our  friends  to  know  it.  Douglas  wore  knicker- 
bockers and  a  blouse  with  admirable  gravity.  Other 
men  in  this  juvenile  costume  look  as  if  they  had  as- 
sumed it  simply  for  their  temporary  convenience. 
But  Douglas's  long  thin  legs  were  humorously  childlike, 
and  his  whole  figure  was  suggestive  of  a  baby-giant,  or 
of  a  being  capable  of  immeasurable  elongation,  if 
cleverly  pulled  out. 

The  young  men  were  extremely  taciturn.  After  the 
twentieth  silent  round,  Staunton,  with  somewhat  less 


116  GUENJSr. 

than  his  usual  affability,  remarked  :  ' '  Well,  I  like  this !  ** 
To  which  Douglas  responded  nothing. 

After  the  twenty-fifth  round,  Staunton  said:  "We 
might  get  a  boat  — eh?"  To  which  Douglas  replied 
doubtfully:   "  H'm." 

After  the  thirtieth  round,  Staunton  announced:  "I 
say,  Douglas,  I  'm  going  to  look  up  a  boat." 

' '  He  thinks  he  knows  more  about  boats  than  the  whole 
admiralty.  He  may  have  a  choice,"  —  suggested  the 
Scotchman  doubtfully. 

"Well,  he  said  nothing  of  any  particular  boat  or 
man  last  night." 

"If  he  doesn't  like  our  choice,  so  much  the  worse 
for  him.  He  ought  to  be  here.  Suppose  we  take  the 
next  best  man  we  find." 

In  the  gloom,  as  if  sent  by  fate,  a  pair  of  burly 
shoulders  loomed  up  directly  in  their  path. 

"Let  us  take  this  broad-back,  if  he  has  a  boat;" 
and  Staunton  with  his  fine  French  and  reserved  man- 
ner accosted  the  figure. 

The  man  turned  and  looked  at  them.  He  had  an 
unusually  fresh  skin  for  his  age,  and  hard  blue  eyes. 
It  was  Herve  Rodellec,  in  an  interval  of  sobriety,  as 
capable  of  sailing  his  boat  and  making  a  good  specula- 
tion out  of  the  strangers,  as  any  man  on  the  bay. 

"Ah,  Rodellec  !  "  began  Staunton  a  little  stiffly, 
"we  are  looking  for  a  boat.  We  want  to  go  over 
to  the  Lannions.  Could  you  —  ah— is  your  boat  — 
ah?" 

"Come  and  see  for  j'ourselves,  gentlemen,"  Ro- 
dellec smiled  and  showed  two  rows  of  perfect  teeth. 
"She  is  just  below.  If  there's  a  prettier  craft  in 
Plouvenec,  I  never  sailed  a  boat." 

"Directly,"   returned   the   Englishman.     "We   are 


GUENN.  117 

waiting  for  a  friend.  What  are  your  terms,  Eodellec? 
We  want  the  boat  for  the  day,  you  know." 

"No  more  and  no  less  than  usual,"  Rodellec  an- 
swered with  jovial  ambiguity,  "and  for  pour  boire, 
whatever  the  gentlemen  feel  Uke  giving,  of  course. 
There  are  three  of  us  and  the  mousse,"  he  threw  in 
lightly.  ' '  Ah  yes,  monsieur  can  rely  upon  having  things 
on  the  square  with  Herve  Rodellec.  A  franc  Breton  likes 
everything  above-board.  As  for  the  Lannions,  I  am 
a  cousin  of  the  Lannions  so  to  speak, — monsieur  le 
recteur  being  cousin  to  my  sainted  wife,  —  God  rest 
her  soul,"  —  crossing  himself.  "The  recteur  and  I 
are  the  best  of  friends.  Oh,  yes  !  I  'm  your  man  for  the 
Lannions  :  nobody  better  indeed,"  —  and  he  rubbed  his 
hands  together  with  a  cordial  and  trusting  air,  and 
smiled,  and  pushed  his  beret  farther  back  on  his 
flowing  hair. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  burly  rascals  with  rosy  bab}^- 
skins  win  more  confidence,  from  the  world  at  large,  than 
their  pale  and  melancholy  brothers.  Florid  immorality 
that  punches  you  vulgarly  in  the  ribs,  and  reveals  to 
you  secrets  that  should  be  sacred  to  a  fiend,  seems  less 
reprehensible  than  vice  brooding  alone  in  the  corner, 
respecting,  in  a  certain  sense,  its  dignity  and  your  own. 
Familiarity,  through  some  perverted  reasoning,  often  has 
the  effect  of  ingenuousness.  A  loud  laugh  is  reassuring, 
while  the  quiet  smile  of  an  honorable  man  may  suggest 
an  undermining  policy.  In  short,  self-control  implies 
mind.  Mind  is  dangerous.  Welcome,  then,  to  childish 
volubility  and  ignorance.  In  them  there  is  surely  no 
harm.  So,  from  Caesar  down,  we  fear  the  ' '  lean  and  hun- 
gry look."  Yet,  is  not  cruelty  robust  as  well  as  pallid, 
and  is  an}'  villain  so  hopelessly  soulless  as  the  strong 
blond  animal  possessed  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  a 


118  GUENN. 

perfect  circulation,  and  a  conscience  intact?  He  has 
no  remorse,  no  uneasy  morbid  reveries,  and  the  most 
subtle  expert  can  detect  in  him  no  predisposition  to  in- 
sanit}^  He  can  betray  his  friend  without  losing  his 
appetite  for  his  mutton-chop,  beat  his  wife  half  dead 
and  sleep  the  dreamless  sleep  of  an  infant.  The  next 
day  he  has  his  jokes,  his  frank  ways,  his  read}^  tears, 
his  confidences,  and  the  world  says:  "He  is  a  good 
fellow,  a  little  hasty  and  thoughtless, — who  of  us 
indeed  is  perfect?  but  there  is  no  real  harm  in  him." 

"  This  is  n't  a  bad  one,"  Staunton  said  approvingly. 
*'  Suppose  we  let  him  make  his  terms  clearer,  and  take 
him  for  better  for  worse." 

At  that  moment  Hamor,  with  a  cheerful  face  and 
long  strides,  appeared.  He  called  once,  was  answered, 
and  came  straight  to  the  group. 

"Ah,  here  j^ou  are,"  he  said  blithely.  "I'm  a 
little  late,  you  see.  I  was  detained.  What  on  earth  are 
you  doing  with  that  old  prize-fighter  ?  "  giving  Rodellec 
at  the  same  time  a  most  friendly  nod.  "  Meurice,"  he 
shouted  energetically.  "Here,  you  fellows  there  on 
the  wall,  won't  some  of  you  have  the  kindness  to  see  if 
Monsieur  Meurice  is  n't  somewhere  about  —  ?  Look 
along  the  other  landing — "  Then,  to  his  friends, 
"Meurice  is  our  man,  jom  know." 

It  was  surprising  how  much  life  Hamor  infused  into 
the  lifeless  morning.  The  sailor-boys  ran  to  do  his 
bidding.  Others  whom  he  knew  came  up.  Men 
emerged  from  the  fog ;  and  where  he  stood,  with  his 
animated  face  and  ready  word  of  greeting,  the  air 
seemed  drier  and  warmer,  the  world  more  awake. 

Hamor  admired  the  Plouvenec  sailors,  and  had  a  singu- 
larly happ3^  way  with  them.  He  liked  to  loiter  about  the 
quay  and  the  digue  when  the  boats  were  in,  and  chat 


GUENN.  119 

with  the  men.  He  had  had  occasion  to  lend  them  a 
helping  hand,  which  he  did  with  an  air  of  knowing  the 
ropes.  He  asked  them  intelligent  questions  about  the 
coasts  and  the  fishing,  and  in  return  gave  them  inter- 
esting information  about  his  own  country. 

At  first  they  had  eyed  him  askance,  as  is  their  habit, 
but  a  man  who  knew  so  much  about  boats  was  not  to 
be  scorned  like  a  clumsy  land-lubber.  Then  he  never 
forgot  a  name  or  a  face,  — •  a  gift  of  the  gods  as  invalu- 
able in  a  fishing  village  as  at  court.  In  the  presence  of 
a  rough  but  sympathetic  crowd,  he  had  once  extracted 
a  fish-hook  rather  cleverly  from  a  child's  thumb,  and 
had  not  hesitated  to  aid  an  old  woman's  slippery  efforts 
to  rearrange  a  basket  of  overturned  eels.  These  two 
acts  of  easy  benevolence  had  won  for  him  a  prodigious 
reputation  for  heart.  He  had  a  handsome  patrician 
face,  and  they  liked  him  none  the  less  for  that.  He 
wore  a  beret  and  sabots,  — ■  which  indeed  most  of  the 
artists  wore  who  might  find  it  expedient  to  work  all  day 
long  in  a  marsh  with  their  feet  reposing  in  a  pool,  — 
but  he  wore  his  beret  down  among  their  berets,  his  sabots 
down  among  their  sabots,  and  often  nights,  along  the 
parapet,  his  voice  would  join  their  choruses  in  a  heartj' 
joyous  fashion,  which  even  without  his  responsive  smile 
was  surely  sufficient  to  inspire  perfect  confidence. 

His  friends  had  been  regaled  with  frequent  bursts  of 
eloquence  in  regard  to  the  Breton  seaman,  who  he  de- 
clared was  the  finest  fellow  in  the  world.  Hamor  was 
prone  to  the  use  of  the  superlative.  The  last  pretty 
girl  he  saw  was  apt,  for  a  couple  of  days,  to  be  the 
most  beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life.  The 
last  interesting  book  was  the  best  book  he  ever  read. 
"  And  I  tell  you  what,"  he  would  say  with  a  vast 
amount   of  enthusiasm,    "  they   have   the   very  finest 


120  GUENN, 

possible  manners,  for  men  of  their  class.  Not  that  I 
recognize  class  distinction  as  jou  do,  Staunton.  Class 
is  an  accident  of  no  account :  I  use  the  word  only  as 
a  matter  of  conversational  convenience." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  we  all  know  that  you  are  a  Nihil- 
ist," Staunton  would  retort  mildly. 

"No,  I  am  onl}^  an  American.  But  just  observe 
these  sailors ;  independent  and  perfectly  courteous, 
respectful  without  being  obsequious.  They  have  a  fine 
reserve.  The}^  can  give  a  joke  and  take  one  without 
growing  familiar.  Can  j'ou  produce  an3^thing  better? 
Can  a  duke  do  more  ?  "  he  would  demand  sternly. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  sa}^  not,"  Staunton  would  reply,  laughing 
with  amiable  indifference. 

Now  Hamor  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  friendly  and 
admiring  group.  Staunton  watched  him  a  few  moments 
with  a  humorous  sense  of  his  own  unimportance.  Ro- 
dellec  was  watching  too,  with  however  nothing  of  a 
humorous  nature  on  his  dogged  face.  At  length  Staun- 
ton said  in  gentle  remonstrance  :  — 

"  But,  Hamor,  I  've  already  spoken  to  this  man,  don't 
you  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  !  Give  him  a  pour-boire.  Meurice 
is  a  famous  fellow.  You'll  like  Meurice.  Then,  I  have 
already  told  him  I  should  want  him  to  take  me  over  to 
the  Lannions.     So  he  is  half-engaged,  you  see." 

"Well,  my  man  is  just  about  half-engaged  too," 
Staunton  said  with  a  smile. 

"  We  might  procure  a  fleet  to  transport  us,"  drawled 
Douglas,  his  hands  behind  him,  his  feet  planted  firmly 
and  far  apart,  in  the  compass-attitude  he  was  apt  to 
assume  for  enjoyable  listening.  "Perhaps  I'd  better 
hurry  and  get  still  another  ancient  mariner." 

"  Do  ;  and  hurry  by  all  means.     Hurry  as  only  j^ou 


GUENN,  121 

and  the  little  busy  snail  understand  the  word,"  began 
Hamor  pleasantl}-.  "Ah,  here  's  my  man,"  raising  his 
beret  in  response  to  the  greeting  of  a  tall,  fine-looking 
sailor,  whose  manner  deserved  all  the  encomiums 
Hamor  had  bestowed  upon  the  fraternitj',  and  whose 
smile  was  as  cordial  as  Hamor's  own. 

"  I  'm  luoky  to  find  3'ou,  patron,"  said  the  young  man 
heartily.  "I  ought  perhaps  to  have  seen  you  last 
night,  but  it  was  late  when  we  made  our  plans,  you 
know."  This  little  explanation  was  frankly  directed  to 
the  whole  group,  who  seemed  to  find  it  highly  satisfac- 
tory, and  in  fact  to  redound  in  some  way  to  Monsieur 
Hamor's  credit.  "  And  now  the  question  is,  Is  it  a  good 
day  for  the  Lannions,  and  can  you  take  my  friends 
and  me  over?" 

"  It 's  going  to  be  a  good  day  on  sea,  monsieur.  The 
fog  is  beginning  to  lift,  and  the  boat  is  always  ready  for 
you  when  you  are  ready  for  her,  only  she  does  smeU 
a  bit  strong  of  the  fish  of  yesterday,  and  no  denying, 
monsieur." 

As  he  spoke,  Rodellec  came  behind  him  and  mut- 
tered something  in  Breton  over  his  shoulder.  "What 
is  that  to  me  ?  "  returned  Meurice  quickly,  with  a  shrug. 
Eodellec  continued  in  a  low  surly  tone. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Hamor  briskly.  "We  must  be 
oflT;  eh,  patron?  Let  us  not  waste  our  time.  Sans 
rancune,  Rodellec." 

Rodellec  faced  him  squarely. 

"It's  the  second  time  you've  meddled  with  me. 
You'd  better  let  me  alone.  You'd  better  take  care. 
You  'd  better  —  " 

"  Such  a  bagatelle,"  returned  Hamor,  with  easy  good- 
humor.  "You'd  better  be  quiet,  Rodellec.  How  can 
you  make  a  row  so  early  in  the  morning  ?  " 


122  GUENN. 

The  sailors  laughed.  "Who  could  be  angry  with  this 
sunny-faced  gars?  Evidentl}"  o\\\y  Herve  Rodellec,  who 
suUenl}^  turned  away.  Staunton,  with  some  contrition, 
slipped  into  his  hand  a  peace-offering.  Rodellec's  fin- 
gers closed  over  it  with  loft}'  unconsciousness.  "  Damn 
him  !  "  he  ejaculated,  by  way  of  distant  acknowledgment. 

"I  would  n't  swear  at  a  man's  friend  in  a  man's  face,'* 
observed  Staunton  gravely.  "It's  ver}^  bad  taste;'* 
but  for  some  reason  his  sympathies  were  entirely  with 
the  discomfited  Breton.  The  civil  young  Englishman's 
mention  of  taste  fell  on  dull  ears  ;  still,  Rodellec  seemed 
to  consider  it  worth  while  to  answer  : 

"  I  have  n't  any  grudge  against  you,  monsieur." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  of  that.  Don't  have  any  grudge 
against  anybody,  and  we'll  take  a  sail  in  3'our  boat 
some  day." 

Rodellec  gave  a  pull  at  his  beret,  and  walked  off  a  few 
steps.  The  laughter  of  his  comrades  sounded  still  in 
his  ears.  Hamor  had  again  pleased  the  crowd,  and 
turned  the  joke  against  him.  His  jealous  vanit}'  filled 
him  with  discomfort.  "Laugh,  3'Ou  grinning  young 
fool !  It  will  be  my  turn  some  da}' ; "  and  he  stood 
watching  the  painter,  who  was  bestowing  cigarettes 
upon  ecstatic  sailor-boys. 

As  the  young  man  followed  Meurice  to  the  other 
landing,  Hamor,  in  excellent  spirits,  exclaimed  :  "Hand- 
some fellow  !  Powerful  fellow  !  I  like  his  angry  eyes, 
and  his  patriarchal  hair,  and  his  beastly  temper.  Upon 
my  word,  little  Guenn  looks  like  him,  and  seems  to  have 
inherited  a  fair  share  of  the  paternal  temperament,"  he 
added,  laughing.  "  I  must  get  that  man  to  pose  for  me 
some  da}'." 

"  Pose  for  you  !  "  It  was  Douglas  who  spoke.  He 
had  not  opened  his  lips  or  changed  his  attitude  during 


GUENN.  123 

the  whole  conversation  after  Meurice  arrived.  Now  he 
was  gravely  stalking  along  as  usual,  neither  in  line  nor 
in  step  with  the  others.  Douglas  might  be  deficient  in 
humor,  as  Hamor  often  said ;  he  might  fail  in  the  ap- 
prehension of  subtle  allusions  ;  but  he  was  capable  of 
accepting  the  plain  evidence  of  facts.  It  seemed  to 
him,  curiously  enough,  at  this  moment,  that  Hamor  was 
not. 

"  Pose  for  you  !  "  he  repeated.  "Is  it  possible  that 
you  don't  perceive  that  the  man  hates  you?  I  must 
say,  I'm  glad  of  it  myself.  It's  good  for  you,  you 
know,  Hamor.  But  there 's  not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt. 
Rodellec  hates  you  with  a  good,  solid,  black  hate." 

Hamor  smiled.  "Nonsense!  Nobodj^  hates  nowa- 
da3's."  He  blew  a  smoke  ring  into  the  heavy  atmosphere, 
and  watched  its  ephemeral  existence  with  interest. 

"  I  honestly  believe,"  said  Staunton,  looking  straight 
before  him,  "  that  Hamor  is  utterl}^  devoid  of  principles 
or  susceptibilities  where  a  model  is  concerned.  He 
would  not  hesitate  to  ask  anybody  to  pose  for  him,  — 
his  brother's  murderer,  or  the  man  that  had  run  away 
with  his  wife." 

Hamor  turned  and  stared.  It  was  rare  to  hear  a  pro- 
nounced opinion  from  Staunton.  Then,  extravagant  as 
was  his  hj^pothesis,  he  spoke  with  an  air  of  intimate 
conviction. 

"Well,"  said  Hamor  after  a  long  pause,  speaking 
with  slow  emphasis,  "  if  I  could  make  a  good  picture  of 
them.,  —  why  not  ?  " 

The  young  men  walked  on  in  silence.     There  seemed 
to  be  an  awkward  break  in  their  intercourse.     Hamor 
cared  for  the  approval  of  his  friends.     He  glanced  from 
one  to  the  other  inquiringly. 
,     "  What 's  the  matter,  old  fellow  T  "  he  asked  at  length, 


124  GUENN. 

putting  his  hand  in  a  boyish  fashion  on  Staunton's  shoul* 
der.  He  looked  Uke  a  bo}'  this  morning  with  his  berei 
pushed  back  from  his  bright  face.  "Has  your  native 
fog  clouded  your  spirits,  or  is  it  turning  out  so 
early  ?  " 

"Never  mind,  Haraor.  It's  all  right,  3'ou  know,'* 
Staunton  said  with  a  touch  of  embarrassment.  "At 
least,  it  is  my  own  fault." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  Hamor  replied  magnanimously. 

It  was  now  Staunton's  turn  to  stare.  Then  he  smiled, 
and  said  softlj",  in  his  usual  manner : 

"You  see  one  phenomenon  gives  birth  to  another. 
How  do  I  know  but  that  I  should  alwaj^s  tell  the  truth 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning?  I  shall  sleep  through  the 
dangerous  moment  hereafter." 

"  As  heretofore,"  Douglas's  deep  bass  concluded  like 
a  strong  organ- chord. 

Meurice's  boat  fortunately  now  claimed  their  attention. 

"  She  does  smell  a  bit  strong,"  Hamor  said  with  a 
little  laugh.  "  But  why  should  n't  she  smell  like  a  fish? 
She  is  a  fish.  Wait  till  3'ou  see  her  swim,  —  eh, 
patron  ?  " 

Meurice  tried  to  look  indifferent,  but  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  twitched  droll}'.  As  he  wore  his  beard  stowed 
away  well  under  his  chin,  no  concealment  was  possible. 
The  betraying  feature,  surrounded  b}'  a  blue  and  bristly 
expanse,  knew  how  to  set  hard  in  the  face  of  danger, 
but  was  now  revealing  its  tender  weaknesses.  When 
they  praised  his  boat  or  his  little  daughter,  his  heart 
bounded  with  joy.  He  put  up  his  rough  hand  with  an 
awkward  motion,  and  coughed  ;  but  he  could  not  cough 
the  pleasure  out  of  his  ej-es. 

"  She  might  be  worse,  —  she  might  be  worse,"  he  be- 
gan shyly ;  then,  after  a  cautious  look  at  each  of  the 


GUENN.  125 

three  strangers,  he  seemed  to  gain  confidence,  and  went 
on  with  less  reserve  : 

"  She  's  the  best  boat  on  this  ba3\  I  don't  say  she  is 
as  handsome  as  Monsieur  Louis's,  and  I  don't  say  she 
can  sail  any  faster,  though  as  to  that  I  have  m}^  opinion. 
But  if  Monsieur  Louis  married  a  wife,  he  'd  want  a  dif- 
ferent  kind  of  a  wife  from  my  wife  ;  and  that 's  what  I 
do  say  ;  and  she  'd  wear  more  gimcracks  now,  would  n't 
she?  but  she  wouldn't  be  any  the  better  woman  for 
that,  and  she  wouldn't  suit  me  as  well  as  my  old  girl. 
The  fact  is,  messieurs,"  he  continued,  much  flattered  by 
the  evident  sympathy  of  his  audience,  ''  a  woman  and 
a  boat  are  pretty  much  the  same  thing.  You  have  to 
know  them  in  fair  weather  and  foul,  or  you  needn't 
think  you  know  them  at  all.  Are  you  a  jeune  homme  ?  " 
he  suddenly  asked  Hamor,  who  was  about  to  reply  with 
the  matter-of-fact  statement  of  his  age,  when  some 
instinct  caused  him  to  ask:  "Do  you  mean  am  I  an 
unmarried  man  ?  " 

' '  Yes,  that 's  what  I  say.  Are  you  a  jeune  homme  ?  " 
Hamor,  admitted  that  they  all  three  were  still  enjoying 
bachelor  freedom. 

"  Then  take  my  advice.  Don't  pretend  to  know  them 
until  you  've  sailed  them  in  foul  weather."  The  young 
men,  already  in  the  boat,  gajly  assured  him  that  they 
would  remember  his  words. 

"  Now,  I  know  this  one,"  and  Meurice  gave  the  mast 
a  mighty  blow,  and  embraced  the  little  craft  in  one 
shrewd,  quizzical  look.  ' '  I  know  all  her  pretty  wheed- 
ling ways,  and  all  her  tricks.  She's  got  some  pretty 
bad  tricks.  They  all  have.  But  I  don't  go  teUing  any 
other  man  what  they  are,  and  I  'm  her  master,  and  she 
knows  it.  No  other  man  ever  sailed  her.  If  any  other 
man  should  sail  her.  I  would  never  sail  her  again  !  "  and 


126  GUENN. 

Meurice  swore  a  good  round  oath  by  the  holy  bones  of 
St.  Herve  of  Plouvenec,  and  went  up  the  landing  in 
answer  to  a  call. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  follow  the  thread  of  this  discourse. 
Is  the  good  man  talking  of  his  better-half  or  his  boat?" 
asked  Staunton,  amused. 

"  Both,  I  imagine.  Is  n't  he  a  character?  I  told  3'ou 
you  'd  like  Meurice,"  Hamor  answered. 

It  was  a  large  open  boat,  lugger  rig,  freshly  rubbed 
down,  ver}'  wet,  and  redolent  of  the  sardines  of  3-ester- 
da}^  and  many  3'esterdays.  Two  3'oung  sailors  in  blue 
Jerseys  and  red  belts  had  pulled  off  their  berets,  and 
assumed,  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  less  lounging  atti- 
tudes in  the  prow.  The  mousse,  a  wir3"  freckled  bo3'  of 
fourteen,  who  was  devouring  crepes  turned  his  back 
and  made  sui'e  of  another  one  of  these  delicacies  before 
the  presence  of  the  strangers  should  deprive  him  of  his 
joys.  The  remaining  crepes  —  broad  buckwheat  fritters 
of  tough  and  elastic  constitution  —  he  then  rolled  up  in 
a  much-used  brown  paper  and  tossed  under  a  seat, 
while,  with  successfull3'  distended  cheeks,  he  stared  at 
his  ease  and  listened  to  his  patron's  words  of  wisdom. 

The  3^oung  men  now  felt  no  great  impatience  to  be 
off.  There  was  something  vastly  enjoyable  in  the  mo- 
ment. The  fog  was  lifting  ;  the  dense  arra3^  of  fishing- 
boats  disclosed  itself  clearer  and  clearer  ;  the  voices  and 
movements  of  the  sailors  grew  more  animated. 

Meurice  was  coming  and  going  briskl3'.  With  stiff 
sh3'ness  and  a  sudden  ingratiating  smile,  he  approached 
his  guests  :  ' '  The  gentlemen  would  n't  mind  if  I  took 
these  girls  along?  "  pointing  up  the  wharf.  '*  It  is  only 
Nona  and  little  Helene  and  Marie.  I  promised  them  a 
sail  over  to  the  islands  if  I  should  go  out  to-day.  They 
don't  often  get  the  chance.     They  will  be  quiet.     They 


GUE]S/i\.  127 

will    not    trouble    the     gentlemen.     And  it   being   a 
Sunday—"  looking  at  Hamor. 

"  Why  take  them,  by  all  means.  Of  course  they  will 
not  disturb  us.  And  we  know  Nona.  Good-morning, 
Nona.  Good-morning,  little  Helene.  And  the  other  is 
Marie ?"  — looking  hard  at  the  girl,  —  "You  may  be 
good ;  you  certainly  are  not  beautiful,"  he  added 
gravely,  in  English.  Staunton  and  Douglas  also  gave 
the  shy  rosy  girls,  in  their  Sunday  coiffes  and  kerchiefs, 
a  word  of  greeting,  whereupon  they  all  came  down  with 
an  air  of  repressed  excitement,  and  chmbed,  rather 
heavil}',  into  the  boat. 

"  Curious  how  badly  these  girls  move,  most  of  them," 
commented  Hamor  ;   "  like  cows,  you  know,  quite." 

Meurice,  with  a  deprecating  pull  at  his  b^ret,  again 
disappeared. 

"Don't  you  suppose  it's  their  skirts?"  hazarded 
Staunton.  "They  wear  such  an  abominable  mass  of 
folds  on  their  hips.  How  can  they  walk  decently? 
Who  could?" 

"  Guenn  Rodellec,"  repUed  Hamor,  with  decision. 

"  Well,  she  is  a  graceful  little  thing,"  Staunton 
admitted. 

"  She  is  the  only  perfectly  graceful  woman  I  ever 
saw,"  announced  Hamor  emphatically. 

"  Woman  ! "  exclaimed  Douglas.  "Call  her  anything 
but  a  woman.  She  's  a  child,  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  a  boy. 
She  can  climb,  run,  jump,  ride  on  a  broom-stick  for  all 
I  know.     Whew,  how  she  skims  over  the  ground  !  " 

"She's  a  beautiful  woman,  all  the  same,"  insisted 
Hamor.  "Wait  till  you  see  her  skimming,  as  3'ou  call 
it,  up  and  down  our  Jacob's  ladder." 

"Ah,  3^ou  still  think  you  oan  get  her?"  Staunton 
said  quietly. 


128  GUENN. 

"  I  have  never  doubted  it  an  instant.  And  when  I 
get  her,  I'll  lend  her  to  jou." 

"Oh,  thanks  !  "  Staunton  turned  away  to  watch  the 
battlements  rise  from  the  rolling  mists. 

With  Meurice  now  appeared  two  strangers  whom  the 
artists  had  often  seen  in  the  village  streets, — a  3'oung 
Alsatian  scientific  man  who  was  working  in  the  Plouve- 
nee  vivier,  and  a  professor  of  natural  histor}"  from  a 
college  in  the  south  of  France.  Much  learning  had 
made  one  of  them  hopelessl}^  despondent,  and  the  other 
a  universal  mocker.  Both,  however,  promised  to  be 
amiable  companions  for  a  da3\  Thej',  too,  wished  to 
go  to  the  Lannions,  and  had  engaged  a  man  who  left 
them  in  the  lurch.  Some  one  on  the  quay  referred  them 
to  Meurice,  who,  in  his  turn,  appealed  to  Hamor. 

He  expressed  himself  as  charmed  with  the  addition 
to  his  party,  and  did  the  honors  of  the  old  fishing-boat 
with  grace.  "  Only,"  he  added,  "  we  must  not  let  the 
patron  go  oflf  again.  We  must  rope  him  to  the  mast. 
He  brings  back  a  treasure-trove  each  time  ;  but  we  are 
complete  now.  We  are  perfect.  We  can  set  sail, —  eh, 
patron  ?  "  and  he  took  his  place  at  the  helm  with  a  ' '  Will 
you  trust  me  to  steer  her?  " 

"  That  I  will,  m'sieu',"  Meurice  said  heartily.  Then 
to  the  others,  "  M'sieu'  Hamor  is  a  born  sailor.  He 
could  take  a  boat  through  the  Raz.  M'sieu'  ought  to 
have  been  a  Breton." 

The  bare-footed  mousse  unfurled  the  jib,  they  pushed 
off,  the  sails  filled,  and  the  little  boat,  lightly  cutting 
the  waves,  glided  out  from  the  long  line  of  masts  into 
broader  waters,  left  the  island-fortress  in  her  wake, 
passed  the  great  digue,  rounded  the  point  where  the 
light-house  stood,  and  soon  was  in  the  open  bay,  run- 
ning along  finely  with  the  wind  on  the  beam.      The 


GUENN.  129 

long  curves  of  the  white  beaches  receded  fast,  with 
soft  stretches  of  dune  and  meadow  and  noble  woods 
reaching  down  towards  the  eager  shining  arms  of  the 
sea. 

With  every  fresh  tack  the  young  men's  faces  revealed 
a  deeper  enjoyment.  When  men  thoroughly  enjoy 
boating,  their  burdens  seem  to  vanish  in  foam,  their 
cares  to  float  off  on  the  free  winds,  as  soon  as  the  sails 
are  unfurled.  Nowhere  else  did  the  droop  of  the  Alsa- 
tian's melancholy  nose  and  his  sad  and  short-sighted 
eyes,  bUnking  drearily  behind  his  spectacles,  so  nearly 
withdraw  their  protest  against  the  cosmic  scheme,  while 
the  professor's  mocker}^  was  modified  into  almost  harm- 
less jollit}^  He  never  sneered  at  a  good  sail-boat,  a 
happy  instance  that  the  most  inveterate  scoffer  may  yet 
hold  something  sacred. 

Nona  and  Marie  grew  steadily  pinker  in  the  stiff  breeze. 
While  tlie}'  were  not  actually  afraid,  their  faces  wore  a 
certain  deepl}^  surprised  expression,  and  a  lurch  of  the 
boat  was  apt  to  cause  shrill  ejaculations,  and  invoca- 
tions to  all  the  saints  of  Brittanj^,  followed  by  subdued 
and  embarrassed  laughter.  Little  Helene  sat  bolt  up- 
right and  clutched  the  seat  with  both  hands.  Neither 
her  attitude  nor  the  look  on  her  small  round  face  indi- 
cated complete  surrender  of  herself  to  the  joys  of  her 
first  sail,  and  it  was  possible  that  her  pent-up  emotions 
would  vent  themselves  in  wailing  and  tears  the  moment 
her  little  sabots  touched  the  sands. 

The  two  dark  sailors  chatted  and  joked  with  the  girls. 
Meurice  said  little,  but  heard  and  saw  much,  turning 
his  head  slowl}^  with  a  shrewd  smile  upon  the  sky,  the 
sea,  the  company,  and  now  and  then  giving  a  quick 
order  to  the  mousse,  who,  in  the  intervals  of  tacking, 
unneeded  and  unnoticed,  ate  crepes.    The  strangers,  in 

9 


130  GUENN. 

easy  attitudes  on  kegs  and  coils  of  rope,  talked  or  were 
silent  as  their  mood  suggested.  A  happy  silence  pre- 
vailed, and  Meurice's  boat  showed  only  her  "  pretty 
wheedling  wa3'S." 

Hamor  swung  his  left  arm  round  the  tiller  and  began 
sk<itching  the  voracious  mousse.  The  professor  came 
nearer  and  watched  the  sketch  grow.  Hamor  finished 
it  and  turned  a  leaf  in  his  book.  His  eye  fell  upon  his 
attempt  to  fix  on  paper  Guenn  Rodellec's  beautiful 
action.  He  smiled,  recalling  the  scene  in  the  boat, 
then  attentively  studied  his  drawing. 

"  I  shall  be  able  to  get  it  when  I  don't  have  to  work 
like  a  thief  in  the  night,"  he  thought. 

''Is  your  sketch-book  only  for  the  ej-e  of  genius, 
monsieur,"  began  the  professor  politely;  "or  may  an 
earth-born  worm  venture  to  —  " 

"  Oh,  3'ou  are  welcome  to  examine  it,  if  j'ou  have  the 
patience,"  Hamor  said  afi'ably ;  "but  there's  nothing 
in  it  interesting  or  even  intelligible  to  an^'body  but  my- 
self. It 's  only  a  kind  of  note-book  to  aid  my  memory. 
It  is  full  of  the  most  fleeting  impressions,  you  see." 
He  turned  the  leaves  slowly.  "  Here  's  a  boy  playing 
top.  The  boy  is  nothing  ;  I  only  wanted  his  right  leg. 
This  is  a  cloud-effect  over  a  church.  These  marks 
mean  cobalt,  and  those,  flake-white.  These  apparently 
delirious  strokes  represent  a  girl  in  a  boat,  with  a  cer- 
tain background  I  wished  to  preserve.  She  's  a  petit 
diable,  and  I  had  to  sketch  her  surreptitiously ;  it  was 
the  splendid  swing  of  the  waist  that  I  tried  to  get. 
You  will  observe  that  I  did  not  succeed;  but  'To- 
morrow is  also  a  day.'  Here's  an  old  woman  fishing 
on  the  digue.  She's  rather  more  discernible.  But 
you  should  see  my  friend  Staunton's  sketches  *,  they  are 
finished  works  of  art." 


GUENN.  131 

•'  I  am  very  sorry  ;  I  did  n't  bring  my  book,"  Staun- 
ton said,  with  a  smile  completely  devoid  of  regret ;  '^  I 
came  for  a  rest." 

' '  I  never  move  without  mine.  How  do  I  know  when 
a  great  inspiration  is  going  to  seize  me  ;  and  there  's 
more  blind  chance  in  Plouvenec  than  in  most  places," 
remarked  Hamor,  still  thinking  of  Guenn.  "  Now  look 
at  us  here  in  this  boat.  What  brought  us  together? 
Could  anything  be  more  incongruous  than  we  ?  " 

"  Could  anything  be  more  agreeable,  sounds  more 
civil,"  Staunton  suggested. 

"I  don't  imagine  that  the  pilgrims  who  used  to  set 
sail  from  the  Breton  coasts  in  search  of  the  blessed  isle 
of  Avalon  were  even  as  well  assorted  as  we,"  drawled 
Douglas. 

* '  But  they  never  took  anything  along  more  seductive 
than  butter,"  and  the  professor  threw  a  wicked  little 
glance  towards  the  squarely  built  young  women.  "  The 
old  Breton  monks  and  their  tubs  of  fresh  butter  were 
inseparable.  Ah,  yes,  their  chants,  their  piety,  and 
their  butter ! " 

"And  each  told  the  story  of  his  pious  life,"  Hamor 
added.  "What  if  we  should  tell  our  experiences?" 
looking  rather  maliciously  at  the  little  circle. 

"Monsieur,  you  are  imaginative  and  enthusiastic," 
said  the  Frenchman  gravely.     "  It  is  admirable." 

"  In  the  first  place,  not  one  of  us  is  honest  enough," 
Douglas  began  with  slow  emphasis.  "Of  course,"  — 
with  an  explanator}'  wave  of  his  long  arm,  —  "I  speak 
with  absolute  conviction  only  of  my  own  part3\" 

"I  hope,  at  least,  that  there  is  not  one  of  us  who 
has  n't  more  sense,"  Staunton  said  with  his  amiable 
smile. 

"  Oh,  I  proposed  nothing  at  all !  "  Hamor  protested. 


132  GUENN. 

*' Personally  I  do  not  feel  in  the  least  communicative. 
It  simpl}'  occurred  to  me  we  might  be  carrjing  a  curious 
cargo  of  reminiscences." 

"  But  it  was  a  ghastly  thought !  "  exclaimed  the  Alsa- 
tian, with  a  groan.     "The  lost  illusions  of  five  men, 
the  horrible  weight  of  their  aggregate  suffering,  mean 
ness,  helplessness,  blunders,  and  the  dreary  treadmill 
of  their  existence  !     It  is  enough  to  sink  the  boat." 

"Ah,  but  my  pessimism  is  less  complete,"  Hamor 
said  cheerfully.  "I  hav^^  -  lapses  of  it:  it  is  not  my 
chronic  state." 

"What  am  I  more  than  that  fish  down  there?"  de- 
manded the  Alsatian  wearily.  "  I  may  have  a  greater 
capacity  for  pain  ;  but  am  I  less  helpless,  less  iiTCspon- 
sible  than  he  ?     I  am  not." 

"And  3^et  I  should  have  said,  monsieur,  that  you 
were  an  able-bodied  man,"  Douglas  remarked  commis- 
eratingly. 

The  others  laughed,  and  even  the  Alsatian  faintly 
smiled,  gazing  with  half-closed  eyes  upon  the  sky  and 
sea.  Then  his  Dantesque  nose  drooped  sorrowfully, 
and  he  lay  back  in  silent  contemplation  of  the  futility 
of  existence  and  the  martyrdom  of  man. 

"I  presume  that  I  agree  with  my  friend  intellec- 
tually," laughed  the  professor;  "but  I  don't  find  it 
worth  while  to  take  life  so  seriously." 

"I  don't  think  an  artist  can  possibly  find  existence 
a  treadmill,"  Staunton  remarked  in  his  mild  way. 

"  I  may  be  mean,  I  may  be  helpless,"  began  Hamor 
energetically,  "and  it  is  perfectly  immaterial  to  me 
what  adjectives  I  deserve.  The  fact  is,  I  am  what  I 
produce.  I  admit  no  other  measurement.  If  I  could 
paint  better  pictures  for  never  having  learned  to  read, 
I  would  gladly  blot  out  of  my  life  the  little  education 


GUENN.  133 

I  possess.  Look  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  another  lug- 
ger whose  tawn}^  sails  were  prettily  dipping  as  she 
crossed  their  bows,  and  seemed  to  plunge  from  a  mass 
of  blue-black  water,  portentous  as  a  thunder-cloud,  into 
a  stream  of  pale  iridescent  green,  crested  with  foam  — 
"look,"  —  he  spoke  with  his  italicized  manner,  to  the 
huge  delight  of  the  professor,  who  studied  him  with 
twinkling  eyes  as  if  he  were  a  new  specimen  —  "if  I 
could  paint  that  little  boat  as  I  see  her  with  my  eyes,  — 
the  motion,  —  the  breeze  in  those  warm  sails,—  the  pas- 
sion and  gloom  of  that  stormy  violet,  —  the  coldness  of 
that  cruel  green,  like  a  strong  man  with  a  shallow 
woman  by  his  side,  together  yet  never  united  —  " 

"Or  like  iron  and  chalk  in  a  melting-pot,"  suggested 
the  professor  dryly. 

"Or  for  simple  folks,  like  oil  and  water,"  Douglas 
added.  Hamor,  with  shining  eyes  and  the  inspired  look 
of  a  young  prophet,  watched  the  swiftly  passing  picture, 
until  all  its  tones  were  lost  in  a  meaningless  gray,  and 
the  two  boats  were  already  far  apart. 

"  Well?"  said  the  professor  quizzically. 

Hamor  looked  at  him,  smiled,  and  said  nothing. 

"  He  was  about  to  swear  that  he  would  be  willing  to 
put  a  leathern  girdle  about  his  loins,  live  on  locusts  and 
wild  honey,  and  stoop  to  any  crime,  —  eh,  Hamor?" 

Hamor  nodded  good-humoredly. 

"  That  is  about  it,  Douglas,"  he  answered  carelessly. 
The  brilliant  look  of  interest  had  faded  from  his  face. 

He  was  sketching  again,  this  time  little  Helene,  glanc- 
ing very  kindly  at  the  timid  child  almost  as  pale  to-day 
as  her  coiffe.  Helene  gave  him  a  faint  smile.  She  was 
seven  years  old,  a  regular  model,  a  favorite  with  all  the 
artists,  and  earned  more  francs  a  mouth  than  her  mother 
received  in  the  ursine.     Her  round  face  in  the  small  cap, 


134  GUENN. 

her  light-blue  eyes  and  cherub  mouth,  were  well  known 
to  Paris  dealers.  The  child  would  lift  her  cheek  to  be 
kissed,  and  smile  serenel}^  at  you,  with  a  certain  con- 
scious dignity,  as  of  one  who  completely  fills  her  niche 
in  the  world.  The  moment  Hamor's  glance,  idle  enougb 
it  seemed,  fell  upon  her,  she  knew  it  and  posed.  She 
)was  very  fond  of  Monsieur  Hamor.  What  child  in 
the  village  was  not,  indeed  ?  He  moved  his  head  slightly 
to  the  left,  and  raised  his  chin  with  a  significant  look. 
The  little  thing  promptl}"  imitated  him,  and  held  her 
position  tolerabty  well  in  spite  of  the  motion  of  the 
boat.  Her  attitude  became  less  rigid.  The  color 
crept  to  her  cheeks.  Little  Helene  had  alread}^  posed 
three  3'ears,  and  instinctively  responsive  to  the  farCiihar 
pantomime  she  almost  forgot  how  the  boat  bobbed  and 
how  big  and  cold  and  wet  the  waves  looked. 

"You  are  diligent,  monsieur,"  said  the  professor  at 
Hamor's  side. 

"  I  amuse  myself." 

"  But  your  fancy  just  now,  that  we  might  all  tell  our 
Hfe-stories  like  the  pilgrims  in  the  old  tales?  Surely 
to  your  artist-eyes  we  bear  them  on  our  faces." 

The  painters  looked  at  one  another  and  laughed. 
"That  is  very  flattering  to  our  perceptive  faculties," 
Staunton  began,  "  but  —  " 

"  But,  unfortunately,  an  artist,  like  another  man,  has 
the  privilege  of  being  a  fool,"  Douglas  added  bluntl}' . 

"I  was  about  to  say,"  continued  Staunton,  "that  a 
man  ma}^  be  thankful  if  he  has  one  positiveh^  good  gift 
In  his  art.  To  read  and  copy  a  face  perfectly,  he 
would  need  to  have  all  good  gifts,  and  a  divine  inspira- 
tion." 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  monsieur?"  the  professor 
asked  Hamor. 


GUENN.  135 

Hamor's  eyes  were  cast  clown.  He  looked  extremely 
mild.  A  half- tender  smile  was  playing  about  his  lips. 
He  found  little  Helene  charming.  His  beret  had  fallen 
off,  and  the  sunlight  made  his  soft  dull  hair  fairer, 
while  in  his  slight  and  somewhat  youthful  growth  of 
beard  and  mustache  were  yellow  gleams.  His  face 
looked  singularl}^  long,  narrow,  and  delicate  in  contrast 
to  Staunton's  and  the  professor's. 

"  I  ?  "  he  said,  without  glancing  up.  ' '  I  agree  with  my 
friend.  A  man  who  paints  a  perfect  portrait  must  read 
the  soul  of  his  subject.  Did  Titian  even  fail  to  sound 
his  man  ?     But  how  many  perfect  portraits  do  we  see  ?  " 

*'A  painter  ma}^  discern  a  man's  aspirations,"  mur- 
mured the  Alsatian,  "  but  the  wretched  limitations  of  hfe 
are  not  written  on  our  faces.  Our  desires  and  our  possi- 
bilities are  always  at  cross-purposes.  So  the  painter 
fails  as  our  faces  fail  to  express  the  truth." 

*' Pardon,  monsieur,"  Staunton  said,  "  but  I  believe 
that  every  face  in  the  boat  tells  an  unerring  tale,  not  onl}"" 
to  an  artist's  eyes,  but  to  s^ny  thoughtful  observer.  We 
may  fail  to  read  aright.  A  trifle  may  lead  us  astray. 
But  our  faces  never  lie." 

The  boat  was  running  along  steadily,  and  the  conver- 
sation had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  sailors  and  girls. 
Indeed  the  latter  had  been  from  the  first  quite  cogni- 
zant of  all  that  Hamor  said  and  did.  They  liked  him. 
He  seemed  to  be  kindly  aware  of  their  presence.  While 
the  professor  made  them  ill  at  ease,  with  his  mocking 
JBtare,  and  the  three  other  gentlemen  were  as  uncon- 
scious of  their  presence  as  if  they  were  coils  of  rope  or 
piles  of  sardine- nets. 

A  modest  whispering,  accompanied  by  many  glances 
at  Hamor,  began  among  the  Bretons  in  the  bow.  His 
face  bent  over  his  work,  expressing  a  tender  comprehen- 


136  GUENN. 

sion  of  childhood  at  large  and  of  little  Hdfene  as  its 
nearest  representative,  was  receiving  the  intent  scrutiny 
of  seven  pairs  of  eyes.  At  length  he  became  conscious 
of  it,  and  looked  up  inquiringly. 

Douglas,  who  sat  nearest  the  Bretons,  said  quietly: 
*' These  girls  imagine  that  they  have  discovered  a  sin- 
gular resemblance." 

"Between  you,  I  am  sure,  and  a  certain  eminent 
historical  personage,"  added  the  professor  in  a  low  tone 
to  Hamor. 

"  It  is  the  same  face,"  began  Nona,  timid  yet  eager, 
*'  that  is  in  the  great  picture  in  the  church,  with  the  chil- 
di'en  around  Him,  and  the  little  ones  in  His  arms  — 
and  —  " 

Hamor  flushed,  rose  abruptly,  thrust  his  sketch-book 
into  his  pocket,  letting  the  tiller  swing,  seized  his  beret, 
pulled  it  well  down  on  his  forehead,  and  turned  his  back 
to  the  others. 

Staunton,  with  more  cordiality  than  he  had  shown 
Hamor  that  day,  said  : 

"  We  know  you  do  not  pose  for  it,  Hamor." 

"  Good  heavens,  no  !  Do  me  that  justice.  Nothing 
annoys  me  more.    I  have  heard  it  quite  often  enough." 

"  Monsieur  Hamor  !  "  called  Meurice,  "  where  is  my 
man  at  the  helm  ?  Do  you  see  the  islands  ?  Run  her 
between  the  fort  and  the  light.  You  see  the  Penfret 
phare?" 

"  Yes,  3'es,  patron,"  answered  Hamor,  and  jammed 
down  the  helm.  The  professor  crossed  to  Staunton's 
side,  and  asked  maliciously:  "Where  is  your  theory 
now  ?  " 

"Undisturbed,"  was  the  tranquil  answer.  "As  I 
said,  we  are  not  all  physiognomists." 

"Monsieur  Hamor  has,  it  is  evident,  narrow  tem- 
ples,—" 


GUENN.  137 

Staunton  was  a  good  conventional  Roman  Catholic. 
*'  Pardon,  monsieur,"  he  interrupted  ;  "  but  need  we  go 
into  details?  I  admit  a  resemblance  to  a  type  often 
made  use  of  in  certain  pictures.  I  have  been  frequently 
struck  with  it.  But  it  annoys  Monsieur  Hamor ;  and 
as  for  m3'self  —  " 

"Oh,  by  all  means  let  us  drop  the  subject,  if  joxx 
have  any  scruples,"  said  the  Frenchman,  with  a  good- 
natured  shrug.     ' '  And  there  lie  the  Lanuions  ?  " 

"Mon  dieu,  how  triste  they  are,  the  nine  barren 
sisters  !  "  exclaimed  the  Alsatian. 

"  Sisters?  They  look  like  a  rugged  vanguard  of  he- 
roes meeting  the  first  rush  of  an  angry  foe,"  said  Hamor, 
with  enthusiasm. 

"And  to  me,"  remarked  the  debonair  professor, 
"they  look  like  nine  flat  and  uninteresting  islands, 
with  not  a  solitary  claim  to  picturesqueness,  but  with,  I 
am  informed,  specimens  of  the  Labrus  quadrimaculatus, 
the  Ghenopus  pespelicani,  and  even  of  the  very  rare 
Balanoglossus  salmoneus." 

"  Rocks  to  the  starboard,  M'sieur  Hamor ! " 

"Oui,  patron,"  called  Hamor  brightly.  They  soon 
passed  several  smooth  conical  rocks,  outposts  of  the 
Lannions,  just  raising  their  ugly  black  heads  above  the 
waves. 

"  Nasty  things  to  come  on  unawares  !  "  and  Meurice 
nodded  his  head  in  repeated  asseveration,  scrutinizing 
them  with  much  animosity.  "  They  've  punched  a  hole 
in  many  a  good  boat's  ribs,  and  helped  to  fill  the  grave- 
yard on  the  Loch." 

They  neared  the  phare  on  Penfret,  the  fort  on  the 
Cigogne,  the  cluster  of  fishermen's  houses  on  St. 
Nicholas,  and  the  rude  chapel  on  the'  Loch.  They 
saw  no  striking  outhnes,  no  towering  clLfi's,  nothing  to 


138  GUENN. 

attract  the  ordinary  eye,  —  as  the  professor  had  said, 
nothing  picturesque.  The  significance  of  the  Lannions 
was  something  deeper  than  the  picturesque  contains. 
Barren,  desolate,  with  long  stretches  of  purest  sand 
meeting  long  stretches  of  coarse  grass,  revealing  liquid 
depths  of  gold  and  purple  and  shining  green,  —  a  royal 
splendor  of  color  such  as  one  dreams  must  fill  a  deep 
sea-cave  with  light,  —  the  islands  impressed  the  artists 
with  their  extraordinary  remoteness  from  the  world. 
The  shores  seemed  like  untrodden  virgin  soil.  The 
pure,  cool  breath  of  the  ocean  refreshed  them  con- 
tinually'. The  Lanuions  belonged  not  to  the  land  but 
to  the  vast  realm  of  the  sea.  No  wonder  that  it  jeal- 
ously claimed  its  own  !     What  right  had  man  here  ? 

The  boat  anchored  by  the  Loch,  but  some  distance 
out,  as  the  tide  was  ebb  or  just  turning.  Over  the 
slipper}'  rocks  covered  with  treacherous  masses  of  sea- 
weed the  3'oung  men  made  their  way. 

''  You  see  that  it  is  monotonous,"  said  the  professor, 
—  "flat,  dull." 

"Yes,  it  is  monotonous,"  replied  Hamor  absently, 
his  face  radiant,  his  eager  eyes  discovering  in  ever}' 
transparent  pool  qualities  of  color  that  were  a  tangible 
oy  to  him. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  little  cry  of  distress.  Turning, 
he  saw  that  Helene,  scrambling  along  behind  the  others 
and  making  what  seemed  to  her  smallness  perilous  leaps, 
had  slipped  and  fallen.  The  next  moment  he  had  run 
lightly  back,  swung  the  child  up  on  his  shoulder,  and 
was  carr3'ing  her  securely  to  dry  land. 

Meurice  from  his  boat  saw  it.  ' '  That  gars  has  a 
heart,"  he  said.     "  The  others  were  nearer." 

Having  landed  behind  the  chapel,  they  passed  the 
cure's  tiny  garden-plot,  where  a  few  herbs  and  heads  of 


GUENN. 


139 


coarse  salad  led  a  meagre  and  precarious  existence 
beside  a  rabbit-pen  well  fortified  by  stones.  Hamor,  in 
advance  with  the  professor,  came  round  towards  the 
church -porch ;  but  before  descending  the  bank  that 
slightly  sheltered  one  side  of  the  chapel,  they  stopped 
short  in  considerable  surprise. 


CHAPTEE   IX. 


THYMERT  was  standing  at  his  chapel  door,  tall, 
erect,  his  dark  head  bare.  He  had  raised  an  old 
rifle  to  his  shoulder,  pointing  it  indefinitely  over  the 
waves.  A  flash,  a  report,  —  he  lowered  his  gun,  and 
saw  the  strangers.  With  a  warm  smile  he  came  quickly 
towards  them. 

' '  Is  this  a  war-signal,  monsieur  le  recteur  ? "  Hamor 
said,  taking  the  priest's  outstretched  hand.  "  We  are 
pilgrims,  not  invaders." 

"  You  are  my  welcome  guests,"  replied  the  cure,  with 
the  graciousness  of  a  prince.  "  I  was  calling  my  people 
to  mass,"  he  explained  simply.  "  Our  chapel  has  no 
beU." 

He  looked  with  frank  interest  at  each  face.  After 
a  few  friendly  words,  he  said,  turning  abruptly : 

''  They  do  not  come,  I  see.  They  are  sometimes  late. 
I  must  fire  again."  He  gi'avely  reloaded  and  fired  ;  then 
stood  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  scanning  his 
whole  realm,  until  he  saw  some  boats  putting  ofl"  from 
the  more  distant  islands. 


GUEISN.  141 

*'  Ah,  there  they  are  !  They  '11  be  here  soon,"  he  said 
contentedl}'.  Turning  with  his  flashing  smile  to  his 
guests:  "Messieurs,  you  will  attend  mass,  and  then 
you  will  breakfast  with  me."  This  was  an  announce- 
ment of  his  sovereign  will  rather  than  an  invitation, 
"You  will  give  me  that  great  pleasure.  But  pardon, 
3'ou  have  not  seen  ray  house."  Preceding  them  with 
his  swinging  step,  he  threw  open  a  door  on  one  side, 
then  on  the  other,  of  the  small  square  vestibule  finished 
in  rough  boards. 

' '  Here  is  my  dining-room  and  stud}' ;  this  is  my 
bedroom.  Consider  it  all  your  own,  gentlemen.  It 
seems  a  curious  place  to  you,  no  doubt,  but  3'ou  are 
welcome  everywhere.  It  may  amuse  you  to  examine 
my  quarters."  He  threw  open  cupboards  where  books, 
old  newspapers,  and  bottles  were  heaped  together  in 
dusty  confusion.  He  showed  them  the  passage  leading 
from  his  stud}-  to  his  kitchen,  cosily  situated  left  of  the 
choir ;  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  church  a  similar 
one  from  his  bedroom  to  the  sacristy. 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  Thj^mert's  example,  or  to 
the  salt  smell,  or  to  the  nautical  appearance  of  things 
in  general,  the  young  men  felt  as  if  they  were  on  a  ship, 
began  to  walk  with  caution  as  if  planks  were  rising  to 
meet  their  feet,  and  would  have  experienced  little  sur- 
prise had  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Sea  set  sail  for 
Spain.  Implements  of  various  kinds,  spades,  ladders, 
oars,  la}^  along  the  passages.  There  were  also  a  few 
rude  beds,  and  a  quiet  nook  apart  for  the  drowned  dead 
to  lie  until  they  should  be  borne  to  the  little  church- 
yard. 

"  You  see  we  are  not  so  very  poor  at  the  Lannions," 
Thymert  said,  smiUng  alwa3's,  "  but  that  we  can  give  a 
guest  a  night's  quarters.     In  fact,  once  when  we  were 


142  GUENN. 

very  full,  I  put  a  stranger  in  there,"  pointing  signifi- 
cantly over  his  shoulder.  "  He  did  not  sleep  the  worse 
for  it,  as  he  did  not  know,  and "  — with  a  shrug  —  ^'liv- 
ing or  dead,  we  are  but  men." 

' '  There  are  many  drowned  men  washed  upon  the 
islands,  I  have  heard,"  remarked  Hamor. 

' '  Mon  dieu ,  yes , "  said  the  priest  thoughtfully.    ' '  They 
seem  to  be  weary  of  tossing  about  on  the  waves,  and 
come   pleading   for  burial   under   our   Blessed   Lady's 
.protection.      We  had  a  funeral  here  only  last  week. 
The  gentlemen  would,  I  think,  have  found  it  a  strange 
scene.     A  poor  fellow  was  washed  on  the  sands,  here 
on  the  Loch,  before  m}'  chapel  door.     He  lay  face  down« 
The  commandant  of  the  Merle  was  here  that  day  with 
some  of  his  men.     You  know  the  commandant?     He  is 
a  noble  man.     You  should  have  heard  the  few  words  he 
spoke  to  his  sailors.     They  wrapped  the  drowned  man 
in  the  flag,  and  we  buried  him  out  there,  and  they  never 
turned  him  once.     They  did  not  dare  to  look  at  his  face, 
you  understand.     He  was  lost  overboard  probably  from 
some   French   man-of-war  passing  us   far   out  at  sea. 
The  commandant  stood  before  his  men,  and  told  them 
that  sooner  or  later  this  was  the   end  which  he  and 
they  must  meet;    that  it   does  not  matter  when  the 
end  comes,  if  it  finds  a  man  at  his  post.     The  sea  is  the 
sailor's  grave,  but  the  wave  that  sweeps  over  him  will 
wash  him  into  a  safe  haven.     The  strange  sailor  whom 
we  had  laid  to  rest  was  happy,  wrapped  in  the  beloved 
flag  of  France,  with  a  last  farewell  from  sailor  lips,  with 
sailors'  prayers  for  his  soul.      Let  every  man  do  his 
duty,  and  look  death  boldly  in  the  face.     Then  he  will 
be  worthy  to  be  buried  in  the  flag  of  his  country,  to  be 
mourned  by  brave  men ;  and  when  the  sea  claims  him 
as  its  own,  be  it  to-day,  to-morrow,  or  after  3'ears,  he  is 


GUENN.  143 

ready.  Courage  and  duty  was  what  the  commandant 
taught  his  men.  It  is  what  he  always  teaches  them," 
he  added  warmly,  "  not  only  with  words,  but  with  his 
life." 

*' And  you,  monsieur  le  recteur,  did  3'ou  say  noth- 
ing?" asked  Staunton. 

Thymert  looked  at  him  modestly.  "  Oh,  yes  !  after 
the  burial  service  I  spoke  to  my  Bretons,  of  course. 
I  said  very  much  the  same  thing  as  the  commandant, 
but  I  cannot  speak  as  he  does.  When  he  speaks,  it 
stirs  the  blood.  I  have  no  eloquence,  3'ou  know ;  but 
my  men  are  used  to  me.  They  understand  my  voice. 
When  I  tell  them  we  must  all  live  and  die  like  brave 
Bretons,  the3'^  believe  me." 

"You  appear  to  make  a  strong  distinction  between 
Frenchman  and  Breton,  I  observe,"  said  the  professor, 
smiling. 

' '  Monsieur,  I  would  fight  with  France  against  any 
other  nation,  but  I  would  fight  with  Brittan^^  against 
France.  I  love  France  :  I  am  a  Frenchman.  But,  first 
of  all,  I  am  a  Breton,"  and  he  drew  himself  up  with 
almost  defiant  pride  and  a  warm  flash  in  his  eyes.  "  It 
is  a  pity,  gentlemen,"  he  went  on  after  a  moment, 
"that  you  did  not  hear  the  commandant.  You  would 
never  be  able  to  forget  such  a  scene.  While  we  stood 
there  the  wind  rose,  and  the  waves  seemed  to  be  in  a 
great  fury,  as  if  the}^  were  determined  to  sweep  us 
and  the  fresh  grave  away.  Oh,  yes!  "  —  with  a  quiet 
smile,  —  "the  sea  will  have  us  all,  soon  or  late,  as 
the  commandant  said.  But  the  gentlemen  will  excuse 
me.  I  must  go  to  the  sacristy,  or  my  people  will  be 
justified  in  firing  the  gun  to  call  their  recteur.  After 
mass,  then.  Sans  adieu,  messieurs."  And  away  he 
strode  down  the  rough  passage  under  the  eaves,  bow- 


144  GUENN. 

ing  his  high  head  to  enter  the  small  doorwa}^  of  the 
sacrist}^ 

He  was  simple  as  a  child,  autocratic  as  a  Caesar. 
On  his  islands,  absolute  monarch,  he  anticipated  no 
resistance  from  his  guests.  The  five  men  had  hstened 
to  him  with  deference.  There  was  a  singular  fascina= 
tion  in  his  strong  personality.  He  seemed  to  be  larger 
than  any  one  of  them,  although  not  taller  than  Hamor 
and  Douglas,  and  less  heavily  built  than  the  professor. 
He  spoke  rapidly,  often  abruptly,  and  on  his  face  every 
passing  emotion  revealed  itself  fearlessly. 

"  I  would  n't  go  to  mass  for  an}^  other  man  on  earth," 
said  the  professor,  with  a  grimace  ;  ' '  but  we  are  in  the 
hands  of  our  superior.  Allons.  Let  us  face  the 
candles." 

They  turned  and  went  into  the  little  chapel,  begin- 
ning to  fill  now  with  its  fisher  congregation,  summoned 
across  the  waters  by  the  sound  of  their  recteur's  gun. 
Staunton,  a  gentle  approving  smile  on  his  face,  much 
pleased  with  Th3'mert,  and  at  home  in  any  church,  knelt 
between  a  withered  old  crone  and  a  beggar  with  a 
wooden  leg.  The  two  philosophers,  with  an  expression 
of  loft}'  patience,  leaned  against  the  wall ;  while  Hamor 
and  Douglas  curiously  examined  the  rough  building,  its 
decorations  of  colored  paper,  its  simpering  wooden 
image  of  Our  Lad}^  of  the  Isles,  adorned  with  tawdry 
flowers  and  gold  and  silver  tinsel  much  tarnished  by  the 
sea-damp. 

' '  That  a  strong  man  can  pray  before  that  ghastly 
figure  !  "  thought  Hamor.  "  I  must  paint  him  a  decent 
picture  some  daj^,"  —  pushing  a  prie-dieu  towards  a 
woman  with  a  bab}^  on  her  breast,  and  stooping  to  pick 
up  a  breviary  which  a  lame  man  had  dropped.  Through 
the  open  door  he  could  see  a  boundless  expanse  of 
ocean. 


GUENN.  145 

The  tide  had  turned,  and  was  creeping  in  over  yel- 
low seaweed  and  little  pools.  The  mundane  cut  of 
Staunton's  coat  made  him  smile,  he  scarcely  knew  why. 
*'  Staunton's  an  uncommonly  good  fellow,"  he  thought 
kindly,  with  some  wonder  watching  his  friend  rise  and 
kneel  and  cross  himself  in  unison  with  the  old  woman 
on  the  left  and  the  old  man  on  the  right.  Meanwhile 
the  responses  were  more  fervent  than  harmonious,  and 
it  was  impossible  not  to  remark  that  Thymert  did  not 
intend  to  lose  much  time.  Not  that  there  was  any  per- 
ceptible want  of  dignity  in  his  manner ;  but  he  moved 
about  the  chancel  in  a  masterful  way,  somewhat  as  if  he 
were  treading  a  quarter-deck,  and  gave  his  small  acolyte 
in  rough  shoes  considerable  trouble  to  keep  up  with 
him.  While  his  voice  was  strong  and  rich,  his  intoning 
lacked  the  singing  legato  cadence  common  to  the  con- 
ventional priest,  and  the  chapel  seemed  scarcely  large 
enough  to  contain  his  superabundant  vitalit3\ 

Soon,  very  soon  it  seemed  to  Hamor,  mass  was  over, 
and  the  coiffed  women,  the  disabled  sailors,  many  of 
them  old  men  with  flowing  hair  and  crutches,  streamed 
out  of  the  chapel,  and,  chatting,  walked  slowly  down 
towards  their  boats  or  loitered  for  a  word  with  their 
recteur.  Nona  and  Marie,  with  Helene,  whispered  to- 
gether and  looked  about  curiously.  There  were  many 
faces  which  the  artists  found  interesting,  —  strong, 
weather-beaten,  stern  still,  in  spite  of  age,  —  as  of 
men  who  had  faced  danger  half  a  century  or  more. 
Few  3'oung  men  were  present.  It  was  fair  weather  and 
the  boats  were  out. 

Presently  Thymert,  freed  from  his  surplice,  came 
swinging  down  the  chapel  in  the  old   soutane. 

"  I  did  that  in  twenty-three  minutes  !  "  he  announced 
triumphantly  to  his  amused  guests,  awaiting  him,  in  the 

10 


146  GUENN. 

vestibule.  "And  now,  messieurs,  we  will  have  our 
breakfast.  M3'  good  Brigitte  has  done  what  she 
could." 

"  Monsieur  le  recteur,"  said  Hamor,  "  3'ou  will  not 
scorn  a  couple  of  hampers  madame  at  the  Vo3'ageurs 
packed  for  us?  Consider,"  in  laughing  apolog}',  "we 
are  five  hungr^^  men,  descending  upon  you  after  a  sail 
of  four  hours." 

Thymert,  undisturbed,  said  with  his  grandest  air, 
"Oh,  thanks,  we  are  not  proud  at  the  Lannions." 
Then,  smiling,  "  I  have  never  known  madame  at  the 
Voyage urs  to  do  an3'thing  inopportune  or  unacceptable. 
I  reall3"  hope  there  are  lobsters,"  he  added  with  eager- 
ness, "  for  Brigitte  tells  me  she  has  none  this  morning." 

Not  one  of  those  five  men  ever  forgot  that  simple 
breakfast  at  the  Lannions ;  where  the  little  acol3'te, 
divested  of  his  robe,  sprang  eagerh'  to  do  their  bidding, 
and  the  young  priest,  with  his  dark,  eloquent  face,  was 
their  host,  and  the  old  Atlantic  rose  while  the3'  sat  and 
talked,  until  his  might3'  winds  sounded  in  their  ears, 
and  the  surf,  breaking  in  strong  sunlight,  flung  its  rain- 
bow spray  against  the  chapel  window-panes. 

Th3'mert  produced  after  a  while  a  couple  of  venerable 
bottles,  hoary  with  dust  and  cobwebs.  "  We  will  drink 
this  together,"  he  cried  J03'full3^ ;  "  it  is  the  gift  of  m3' 
good  bishop.  I  had  forgotten  that  I  had  it.  But  you 
will  perceive  a  grand  difference."  He  filled  their  glasses 
himself  with  a  friendl3^  look  in  the  face  of  each  guest. 
In  his  manner  was  the  fine  warmth  of  hospitality.  He 
was  eager,  cordial,  almost  afiectionate.  The  charm  of 
his  naturalness  was  irresistible.  The3^  all  responded  by 
giving  him  their  best  and  happiest  mood. 

When  they  talked  of  the  Lannions,  of  Plouvenec,  of 
Brittan3^,  he  was  well-informed  and  interesting.     If  the 


OUENN.  147 

conversation  touched  upon  some  topic  of  the  world 
beyond,  he  asked  the  naive  questions  of  an  intelUgent 
child.  Some  one  happening  to  wish  to  refer  to  a  news- 
paper of  the  district,  Th3-mert,  unconcerned,  produced 
the  latest  one  he  possessed,  a  Quimper  journal  six  weeks 
old,  and  smiled  with  his  guests  as  they  saw  the  date. 

"  My  friend  Morot  brings  me  newspapers  sometimes, 
but  they  do  not  interest  me  much.  I  have  work  enough 
usually  without  reading.  Then,  often  I  am  sailing  my 
good  boat.  When  I  have  time  to  read,  I  take  my  Vir- 
gil," he  remarked  with  perfect  simpUcity.  "  Often  he 
is  my  only  companion  except  little  Erec." 

"And  Brigitte?"  suggested  one  of  the  young  men, 
interested  in  this  hermit  life. 

"  She  has  a  family  on  Penfret.  She  comes  only  when 
I  have  need  of  her ;  always  Sundays,  and  now  and  then 
during  the  week.  I  call  her  with  two  gun-shots.  Erec 
cooks  for  me  usually  :  he  is  a  famous  steward.  Erec," 
—  with  an  indulgent  smile  at  the  sunburnt  acolyte, — 
"  tell  these  gentlemen  what  you  can  cook." 

"  Monsieur  le  recteur  is  content  with  his  milk  soup," 
answered  the  boy  with  timid  pride,  followed  by  a  look 
of  mortification,  and  the  abject  confession,  "  but  I  often 
burn  the  crepes." 

Thymert  laughed  with  the  others.  "  Never  mind, 
Erec,"  he  said  encouragingly.  "I  have  burned  many 
a  crepe  for  the  recteur  of  Beuzec,  when  he  was  beating 
Latin  into  m}^  dull  pate.  Ah,  how  I  suffered,  and  how 
I  thank  him  now !  I  was  a  very  good  mousse.  My 
people  were  all  sailors.  But  books  were  my  despair. 
Erec  is  a  good  mousse  too,  and  much  better  at  his 
books  than  I  ever  was." 

"  And  you  read  jonv  Virgil  here  nights  alone,  when 
the  sea  is  high  and  the  winds  come  sweeping  across 


T48  GUENN, 

half  a  world  ?  "  Hamor  pictured  the  cure  with  an  old 
book  in  his  hand,  his  eyelids  drooping  and  a  Gerard 
Dow  effect  of  flickering  candle-light  upon  his  bowed, 
tonsured  head,  dark,  shaven  cheek,  and  strong  chin. 

"Because  my  Virgil  is  all  I  know,"  Thymert  said 
simply.  "But  I  know  him  almost  by  heart.  Nights, 
when  there  is  a  bad  sea  and  any  of  my  boats  are  out, 
and  I  am  anxious  about  my  brave  fellows,  I  walk  up 
and  down  the  chapel  and  repeat  my  Virgil." 

"No  wonder  that  you  need  no  morning  newspaper 
from  Quimper,  or  even  the  Paris  Figaro,"  Staunton 
exqlaimed  heartil3\ 

"Do  you  know  the  story  of  our  Saint  Kadoc?  I 
presume  not.  Our  Breton  saints  belong  to  the  soil. 
They  are  a  home-loving,  tenacious  race.  They  do  not 
go  out  into  your  great  world  ;  they  would  feel  awkward 
there."     Thymert  was  smihng  frankly. 

"Kadoc?"  Hamor  reflected  an  instant.  "Where 
have  I  heard  that  name  recently  —  ?  Ah!"  with  an 
amused  look  — "I  remember:  Kadoc  is  a  Plouvenec 
amphibious  animal." 

"No,  no,  monsieur;  Kadoc  was  a  very  tender- 
hearted saint  who  loved  his  Virgil,  —  to  excess,  per- 
haps. You  will  see  I  follow  an  illustrious  example. 
Shall  I  tell  you  about  him  ?  I  am  talking  very  much 
to-day,  I  fear ;  I  am  excited ;  I  am  not  used  to  such 
pleasant  company.  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  like 
so  many  strangers  at  once.  Now  I  wish  you  would 
come  often,"  he  exclaimed  with  boyish  eagerness.  "  It 
makes  my  islands  more  beautiful  to  me.  It  makes  the 
heart  warm." 

"Ah,  3^ou  love  your  islands  well!"  Staunton  gave 
him  a  gentle  look  of  comprehension. 

"I  love  them  so  well  that  I  cannot  imagine  myseli 


GUENN.  149 

living  elsewhere.  It  is  a  rough  life,  but  dear  to  me.  I 
know  every  soul  through  and  through.  I  know  every 
boat." 

"A  man  like  3'ou  ought  to  stud}^,"  remarked  the 
professor  suavely. 

"Pardon,  monsieur,"  and  Thymert  flushed  to  his 
temples  ;  "I  could  never  be  a  scholar.  I  have  no  gifts. 
I  am  best  suited  to  my  islands.  Only  an  unforeseen 
calamity  could  force  me  to  leave  them." 

"  But  St.  Kadoc,"  said  Staunton  with  kindly  tact,  — • 
*'  are  we  not  to  hear  about  him?  " 

"Ah,  yes,  St.  Kadoc,"  Thj^mert  replied  cordially. 
"  He  lived  upon  an  island  off  the  coast  of  Morbihan,  in 
the  fifth  century.  When  his  friends  came  to  breakfast 
I  suppose  he  used  to  give  them  hydromel  to  drink,"  — 
smiling  and  filling  the  glasses  with  the  bishop's  wine. 
' '  He  was  a  son  of  a  Cambrian  chief.  He  loved  his 
sword,  his  harp,  and  his  book.  At  fifteen  he  was  akeady 
a  warrior.  But  a  disciple  of  St.  Patrick  taught  him  to 
love  his  harp  and  his  book  better  than  his  sword.  How- 
ever, as  far  as  I  know,  he  never  forgot  the  use  of  that. 
Brittan}^  has  had  valiant  saints.  They  could  alwaj's 
fight,  you  know.  The  Saxons  drove  him  and  his  friends 
over  here  to  Armorica.  The  Saxon  race,  begging  your 
pardon,  gentlemen, — but  the  old  chronicle  says  so, — 
was  accursed  of  God  and  man." 

"We  all  know  it,"  remarked  Hamor  with  an  air  of 
conviction.  "  We  have  always  been  a  very  bad  lot. 
But  don't  look  at  me  alone.    Staunton  is  Saxon,  too." 

"Well,"  continued  Thymert,  "  St.  Kadoc  did  much 
good  over  here.  He  taught  his  people  how  to  improve 
their  lands,  their  flocks  and  herds  ;  how  to  sing  and  how 
to  fight,  if  fight  they  must ;  but  best  of  all  he  loved 
peace.     His  island  was  fertile  and  blooming,  not  sterile 


150  GUENN, 

like  my  poor  little  Loch.  One  day  the  holy  man  and 
his  friend  St.  Gildas  were  examining  a  bridge  Kadoc 
had  built  from  his  island  to  the  mainland.  You  know 
the  legend  of  the  bridge,  I  am  sure.  It  is  not  the  ex- 
clusive possession  of  Bretagne.  It  was  a  troublesome 
bridge,  for  whatever  the  good  Christians  accomplished 
by  day  the  devil  destroyed  by  night.  It  is  a  way  the 
devil  has.  Finally,  St.  Kadoc  made  a  treaty  with  him, 
promising  him,  if  he  would  let  the  bridge  stand,  the  first 
living  thing  that  should  traverse  it  after  completion. 
When  the  day  came  for  the  consecration  of  the  bridge, 
and  the  banners  were  flying  and  the  procession  chant- 
ing, there  was  the  devil  waiting  in  great  glee  to  claim 
his  own.  But  St.  Kadoc  sent  a  dog  over  as  tribute,  and 
then  fell  back  laughing  against  a  rock,  which  bears  his 
impression  to  this  day." 

"It  would  seem  that  the  devil  had  grown  sharper 
since  the  fifth  century,"  remarked  the  professor.  "  He 
is  less  credulous  in  these  days." 

The  cure,  with  a  good-humored  smile,  went  on  :  "So 
St.  Kadoc  and  St.  Gildas  stood  on  the  bridge  looking 
at  the  earth  and  skj-  and  the  sea  with  its  islands,  and 
talking  piously  of  the  bliss  of  the  elect.  Now  Kadoc 
carried  his  Virgil  under  his  arm.  Taking  the  beloved 
book  in  his  hand,  he  burst  into  tears.  Gildas  asked  him 
why  he  wept,  and  Kadoc  replied  :  '  I  weep  at  the  thought 
that  this  sweet  singer  is  perhaps  in  torment ! '  '  Per- 
haps ! '  cried  Gildas  with  great  severity.  Gildas  was  a 
different  kind  of  a  saint,  you  see,"  explained  Th}Tnert 
with  a  mischievous  look.    "  He  was  a  reformed  Druid." 

"Ah,  yes,  an  iron-clad  saint.  We  all  know  that 
kind,"  Hamor  commented  lightl3\ 

"  —  '  Perhaps,  indeed  !  There  is  no  doubt  about  it 
whatever.   He  is  damned  for  good  and  all,'  said  Gildas." 


GUENN.  151 

•*  With  huge  satisfaction,  no  doubt,"  remarked  the 
professor. 

"Well,  3^es,  with  considerable  satisfaction,  I  pre- 
sume," Th3-mert  admitted,  smiling,  "  being  a  converted 
Druid,  3  ou  know.  — '  Your  Virgil  is  burning  in  un- 
quenchable fires.  Do  you  then  imagine  that  our  Lord 
has  a  special  system  of  justice  for  story-tellers?'  Gildas 
demanded  sternly." 

"Not  a  bad  idea,  that,"  and  Hamor  smiled  approv- 
ingly, —  "  plenary  indulgence  to  poets  and  painters." 

' '  —  Kadoc  was  a  good  fighter,  but  he  was  gentle 
with  his  friends.  Making  no  response,  he  stood  look- 
ing sadly  at  his  book  feeling  very  uncomfortable." 

"It's  clear  enough,"  said  Douglas,  "Gildas  bullied 
him." 

"  —  Suddenly  a  gust  of  wind  swept  over  the  bridge 
and  blew  the  book  into  the  water." 

"  It  is  not  diflficult  to  imagine  St.  Gildas's  tone  in 
regard  to  this  misfortune,"  the  professor  said  dryly, 
"  saints  being  apt  to  choose  a  peculiar  mode  of  consola- 
tion when  their  friends  are  in  trouble." 

"  Yes,  he  no  doubt  grew  uncommonly  self-righteous 
and  didactic,"  Staunton  added. 

"  The  fact  is,  Kadoc  ought  to  have  taunted  the  old 
heathen  with  his  disgraceful  past,"  drawled  Douglas, 
"  and  hit  him  with  the  skulls  of  his  victims." 

"  —  Gildas  did  avail  himself  of  this  occasion  to  in- 
terpret the  loss  of  the  book  as  a  judgment  of  heaven 
against  Virgil,  if  not  to  some  extent  against  Kadoc 
himself,"  Thymert  continued.  "But  Kadoc,  in  much 
distress,  retreated  to  his  cell,  saying  to  himself:  '  I  will 
neither  eat  nor  drink  until  I  receive  some  sign  from 
heaven  to  teach  me  what  God  does  with  the  souls  of 
men  who  sing  on  earth  like  angels  in  heaven.'    Sighing, 


152  GUENN. 

he  fell  asleep,  and  through  his  troubled  dreams  he 
heard  a  far-off  silver  voice  which  murmured :  '  Pray 
for  m}"  soul,  — pray  for  my  soul,  that  I  may  sing  in 
heaven  as  I  once  sang  on  earth.* 

' '  —  The  next  morning  a  fisherman  brought  St. 
Kadoc  a  salmon ;  and  when  the  fish  was  opened,  there 
unharmed  la}^  the  Virgil  which  wind  and  sea  had  car- 
ried away.  So  the  gentle  saint  who  never  condemned 
a  soul,  who  never  scorned  a  sinner,  who  had  peace  on 
his  lips  and  pity  in  his  heart,  was  comforted,  being 
convinced  through  this  sign  of  the  blessed  resurrection 
that  the  sweet  singer  would  be  finally  saved,  St.  Gildas 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  And  from  that  time 
on,  St.  Kadoc  remembered  Virgil  in  his  prayers." 

"  And  what  was  the  end  of  this  exceptionally  amiable, 
liberal,  and  enlightened  man  ?  "  asked  the  professor. 

"  After  he  had  cultivated  his  isle  and  taught  his 
people,  he  returned  to  England,  and  had  a  parish  in 
what  3'ou  now  call  Northampton.  One  daj^  he  was  cele- 
brating mass  when  a  troop  of  terrified  men,  women, 
and  children  rushed  into  the  church,  followed  by  a  band 
of- mounted  Saxons.  In  the  tumult,  Kadoc  continued 
his  office  with  a  calm  voice.  No  one  had  the  courage 
to  respond.  He  blessed  the  elements.  He  turned 
towards  his  flock.  '  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest, — ' 
at  this  moment  a  Saxon  chief  urged  his  horse  at  full 
gallop  up  to  the  chancel  and  with  his  lance  pierced 
Kadoc's  brave  heart,  — '  and  upon  earth  peace,  good-will 
to  men,'  he  continued  firmlj',  then  fell  dead  before  the 
altar.  That  was  our  Saint  Kadoc,"  said  Thymert 
gently.  ' '  He  was  right.  Peace  is  best,  —  peace  and 
good-will." 

"  Let  us  drink  his  health,"  Hamor  said.  "  And  may 
he  have  met  Virgil  face  to  face  in  the  everlasting 
kingdom  " 


GUENN.  153 

Some  banter  between  the  three  painters  followed, 
Staunton  admitting  that  there  was  much  of  the  accursed 
Saxon  in  him,  Douglas  claiming  on  account  of  some 
Welsh  blood  a  close  relationship  with  the  ancient 
Bretons,  Druids,  saints  and  all,  and  expressing  himself 
with  much  animosity  towards  his  friend.  "  You  know 
we  understand  the  Welsh  dialect,"  the  cure  said,  "  and 
the  Welsh  understand  us." 

The  professor  advanced  various  historical  and  philo- 
logical facts  of  interest,  and  the  conversation  ran  pleas- 
antly on  about  Brittan}^  and  the  Bretons,  until  the 
cure  was  called  to  the  porch  to  see  an  old  fisherman 
who  needed  advice.  He  turned  on  the  threshold  and 
looked  back,  his  dark  eyes  brilliant  and  soft,  his  smile 
eloquent. 

The  professor,  lighting  a  cigar,  said  to  Staunton: 
*'  You  have  here  much  beauty  and  variet}^  of  landscape, 
but  do  you  artists  find  the  Breton  women  beautiful? 
Because,  to  my  worldly  eyes,  they  are  ugly  enough  for 
the  most  part." 

"We  find  beautj^  of  color,  feature,  and  simplicity 
among  the  very  young,  and  the  beauty  of  ugliness 
among  the  ver}^  old.  Grace  we  find  seldom.  The 
girls  here  are  very  precocious  physically,  and  age 
young." 

"  But  there's  a  bit  of  leaven  which  leavens  the  whole 
Cornouaille  lump,"  Hamor  began  with  enthusiasm. 
*'  You  have  not  seen  my  little  Plouvenec  Venus?" 

"  Well,  no,  to  my  knowledge  I  have  never  seen  a 
Venus  in  coiffe  and  sabots.  To  speak  plainly,  it  is 
not  the  kind  of  Venus  that  I  prefer.  But  do  you  all 
share  Monsieur  Hamor's  enthusiasm?"  asked  the  pro* 
fessor  with  his  amiable  sceptical  smile. 

"  I  think  we  do,  more  or  less,"  replied  Stauntoa 


154  GUENN. 

*'  She  is  certainly  a  lovely  little  thing,  but  unattainable 
as  yet." 

"  Ah,  you  have  not  painted  her?" 

''Not  yet,  but  I'm  going  to  paint  Guenn  Rodellec 
before  I  'm  a  month  older.  I  swear  it  by  St.  Kadoc, 
or  rather  by  St.  Gildas,  the  inflexible,"  Hamor  de- 
clared resolutel3\  "  I  am  not  ungenerous,"  he  went 
on,  smiling.  "  I  allow  the  girl  time  to  enjoy  her 
caprices,  you  understand.  But  I  've  waited  about  long 
enough." 

"What  is  she  then?" 

"Oh,  a  wild  little  fisher-girl,  works  m  the  usine  as 
they  all  do  —  bargains  for  sardines  at  night  when  the 
boats  come  in,  hand  and  glove  with  all  the  sailors,  holds 
her  own  with  all  the  old  fish- wives,  is  known  for  miles 
around  Plouvenec,  —  runs  about  freely  at  midnight  as 
at  noon  and  flings  a  not  too  fine  jest  at  ever3^body.  A 
clever  little  head,  I  fancy,  and  an  immense  amount  of 
life  and  fire.  Her  father  is  a  drunken  brute.  Her 
other  family  associations  I  know  nothing  about  except 
that  she  has  a  small  hump-backed  brother,  who  looks 
slyer  than  the  deuce.  But  the  girl  has  the  savage 
grace  of  a  wild  animal,  and  an  intense  kind  of  beaut}-  I 
have  never  before  met  with.  There  is  something  trop- 
ical about  her,  and  infinitely  fresh.  I  doubt  if  she  's 
wholly  Breton.     She  must  be  southern." 

"  Indeed.     You  surprise  me." 

"  For  my  part,  I  think  her  muscular  development 
even  more  astonishing  than  her  beauty,"  Douglas 
remarked  in  his  slow  droU  wa3^  "  She  is  so  light  and 
swift,  I  always  stand  still  to  see  her  go  bj',  and  hold 
my  breath." 

"  I  assure  you,  monsieur,"  said  Hamor,  warming  with 
Ms  subject,  slowly  sipping  his  wine  and  looking  at  the 


GUENN.  155 

professor  in  a  comdncing  manner,  —  "that  this  rude 
little  Bretonne  not  only  has  superb  color,  an  abundance 
of  vivacity,  the  richness  and  warmth  of  the  south,  but 
she  is  a  model  of  pure  outline.  I  saw  her  sculling  a 
boat  the  other  day.  I  watched  every  line  and  move- 
ment. The  girl  would  be  faultless  in  marble,"  Hamor 
asserted  solemnly  and  respectfully,  as  another  man 
might  state  a  religious  belief. 

"Ma  foi,"  said  the  professor  blandty,  holding  his 
glass  up  to  the  light  and  looking  at  it  with  one  half- 
closed  twinkling  eye,  "  here's  a  chance  for  a  specula- 
tion. If  half  what  you  say  is  true,  she  would  make 
her  fortune  at  the  hippodrome.  They  would  pa}^  high 
for  such  a  combination  of  beauty,  freshness,  and  muscle. 
They  don't  find  it  every  da}^,  you  know.  And  then,  — 
apres,"  he  smiled  and  blew  an  airy  kiss  from  the  tips 
of  his  fingers  into  an  indefinite  future. 

There  was  an  involuntary  movement  at  the  table. 
Even  Douglas  straightened  himself.  The  painters  had 
been  talking  in  the  careless  fashion  of  the  atelier. 
Beauty  and  all  its  sacred  lines,  nature  in  her  truth, 
belonged  to  them.  They  were  by  no  means  accustomed 
to  drape  their  meaning.  But  here  was  something 
repulsive  and  foreign  to  their  taste.  After  a  pause, 
unpleasant  to  the  whole  circle,  Hamor  began  very 
gravely : 

"Pardon,  monsieur,  you  misunderstand  completely. 
The  girl  is  rough  and  wild,  but  perfectly  good.  If 
anything  that  I  have  said  has  led  you  to  think  otherwise, 
I  can  only  say  I  am  sorry." 

The  professor  smiled  amiably,  raising  his  eyebrows. 
"  But  she  is  to  become  a  model?  " 

"It  is  only  fair  to  explain,"  said  Staunton,  "that 
the  girls  whom  we  employ  here  as  models  are  a  very 


156  GUENN. 

honest  set.  They  are  hard-working  and  coarse.  They 
sometimes  discuss  matters  in  our  presence  that  are,  I 
must  say,  as  a  rule,  ignored  in  drawing-rooms.  They 
use  expressions  that  are  vulgar,  often  profane.  They 
know  no  better.  But  they  would  resent  a  liberty  with 
quite  as  much  indignation  as  other  girls,  no  better 
perhaps,  but  whom  circumstances  have  educated  to  be 
less  free  of  speech." 

"It  is  a  very  different  kind  of  work  you  see,  down 
here  in  the  country,"  began  Douglas,  "  from  our  work 
in  Paris.  You  are  thinking,  no  doubt,  of  the  regular 
Paris  models." 

"You  painters  are,  nevertheless,  dangerous  young 
men,"  laughed  the  professor. 

' '  I  have  never  heard  of  but  one  girl  down  here  who 
has  had  au}^  trouble  on  account  of  us  painters,"  replied 
Hamor  hotly.  "There  was  an  Yvonne  who  drowned 
herself.  I  am  not  prepared  now  to  discuss  the  question 
whether  it  was  or  was  not  a  nobler  fate  to  catch  a  dim 
glimpse  of  a  higher  world,  to  be  useful  in  a  great  art- 
motive,  to  suffer  and  die  of  grief  and  desperation  when 
her  fine  lover  left  her,  than  if  she  had  never  seen  and 
known  him,  and  had  simply  married  a  man  of  her  kind 
and  become  a  household  drudge,  to  be  sworn  at  and 
beaten,  to  grow  old  and  stolid  and  ugly  before  her  time." 

"  Ah,  Hamor,"  protested  Staunton,  frowning  slightly, 
"  don't  air  that  abominable  sophistry  just  now  — " 

"I  say  that  I  don't  propose  to  discuss  the  question, 
whatever  m}"  private  opinion  may  be,"  continued  Hamor 
in  the  same  tone.  "  Still,  when  I  see  girls  posing  as 
innocently  as  if  they  were  playing  dolls,  when  they 
cUmb  fences  and  ladders  like  boj-s,  and  run  about  m}^ 
atelier  like  so  many  kittens,  I  feel  inclined  to  present 
the  case  to  you  as  it  actually  is." 


GUENN.  157 

The  professor  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiling  with 
polite  incredulity. 

"Your  statements,  messieurs,  do  honor  to  your 
amiable  sentiments,  as  well  as  to  your  faith  in  human 
nature,  but  are,  I  fear,  incorrect.  The  statistics  show 
that  the  morality  of  the  fishing  population  of  Brittany 
—  at  best  a  half-civilized,  lamentably  ignorant,  and 
brutal  class  —  is  —  " 

He  stopped  short.  The  imperious  gesture  of  Thy- 
mert's  uplifted  arm  arrested  his  fluent  discourse.  Pale 
with  the  wrath  of  a  strong  man,  lofty  as  a  rebuking 
angel,  the  priest  stood  motionless  on  the  threshold, 
then  with  one  stride  came  forward.  The  young  men 
instinctively  rose.  No  one  spoke.  Thymert  was  strug- 
ghng  to  control  himself.  At  length  he  began,  his  deep 
voice  vibrating  with  passion : 

"  Pray  do  not  continue,  monsieur,  or  you  will  force 
me  to  be  guilty  of  a  rudeness  under  my  own  roof,  —  it 
may  be  of  a  sin  almost  within  the  walls  of  the  chapel. 
I  should  be  sorr}^  to  tell  you  that  3'our  statistics  —  lie  I 
There,  I  have  said  it !  Who  makes  your  statistics  ?  Is 
it  one  of  us  ?  Is  it  a  Breton  ?  Do  they  who  know  their 
land  slander  the  peasants?  They  honor  them.  They 
revere  the  traditions,  the  ancient  songs  and  legends  of 
a  noble  race.  Read  our  brave  history.  What  land  has 
produced  heroes  that  fought  more  valiantly,  died  more 
nobly,  than  our  Breton  seigneurs,  or  a  folk  more  faithfuv 
to  its  lords?" 

"  Permit  me,  monsieur  le  cure,  or  "  —  correcting 
himself  with  careful  pohteness  —  "  monsieur  le  recteur, 
as  I  observe  3'OU  say  in  Bretagne,"  interposed  the  pro- 
fessoi',  "  I  was  not  alluding  to  your  history,  to  your 
past,  of  which  ever}-  Frenchman  must  be  proud.  I  was 
merely  mentioning  a  deplorable  fact  in  regard  to  the 
coast  population  —  " 


158  GUENN. 

Thymert  interrupted  him  impetuously:  "Yes,  you 
were  talking  of  statistics,  and  I  tell  you  we  are  a  peo- 
ple apart.  Strangers  do  not  know  us  ;  strangers  can- 
not reach  us  :  we  are  defiant ;  we  are  reserved  ;  we  are 
stubborn  ;  we  are  Bretons,  and  all  is  said.  Does  your 
man  who  prepares  the  statistics  bear  our  hardships, 
brave  our  perils,  wrestle  with  the  land  for  its  fruits, 
defy  the  sea  and  its  storms,  suffer  our  poverty,  live  and 
die  with  us  ?  " 

No  one  spoke.  The  priest  resumed  solemnly  :  "As 
for  our  young  girls,"  —  he  paused,  —  "  the  dear  Christ 
bless  them,"  he  said  simpl}',  his  arms  outstretched  in 
infinite  benediction.  "As  for  the  young  girl  who  has 
been  your  chief  theme,"  —  his  voice  grew  tender,  his 
face  full  of  a  great  pit}',  —  "  gentlemen,  my  guests,  she 
is  a  motherless  child ;  she  is  of  m}'  own  blood." 

He  bowed  his  head,  breathing  deeply. 

Hamor's  face  expressed  unfeigned  solicitude.  "  Can 
you  forgive  me?"  he  began  ver}^  rapidly  ;  "  I  alone  am 
to  blame.  I  introduced  this  unfortunate  topic.  My 
careless  tongue  continued  it  when  the  others  had  fin- 
ished. I  meant  no  harm,  to  you,  to  her,  to  anybody. 
I  never  listen  to  my  own  words  ;  I  do  not  know  half  the 
time  what  I  say  ;  I  talk  to  talk  ;  I  had  no  idea  that  she 
was  anything  to  you.  I  simply  cannot  express  my 
regret  for  my  awkwardness." 

Thymert  raised  his  dark,  fervent  eyes  and  looked 
earnestly  at  the  painter. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  slowly,  "she  is  much  to  me; 
she  is  my  niece  —  " 

"  Your  niece?" 

"  My  niece  a  la  mode  de  Bretagne.  Elsewhere  we  are 
cousins.  In  Brittany  one  respects  one's  family.  Mon- 
sieur, how  should  you  feel,  what  should  you  do,  if  I 


GUENN.  159 

should  come  to  your  land,  into  your  home,  and  speak 
of  your  sister  as  j'ou  have  spoken  of  mine  ?  For  she  is 
as  dear  as  a  sister  to  me." 

His  face  darkened  with  the  remembrance  of  certain 
expressions  he  had  heard. 

*'  You  would  say,  would  you  not,  that  I  was  a  half- 
civilized,  ignorant  Breton?  You  would  knock  me  down 
—  shoot  me  ?  Tell  me,  monsieur,  what  do  the  men  of 
your  country  do  when  men  insult  their  sisters?" 

Hamor  stood  speechless  before  him.  What  was  there 
to  sa}'  here? 

"I  heard  your  offence,"  the  priest  said  with  bitter- 
ness ;  then,  with  a  supreme  effort,  "  I  also  heard  your 
defence.  For  that  I  thank  you.  I  believe  3'ou,  mon- 
sieur, when  you  tell  me  that  you  profoundly  regret  yom* 
own  words."     He  slowly  took  Hamor's  proffered  hand. 

"  We  all  do,"  Staunton  interposed  gently  ;  "  we  could 
not,  of  course,  know  that  the  topic  would  be  so  fatally 
personal,  but  it  was  in  very  bad  taste,  at  best.  I  wish 
you  would  believe  how  sorr}^  we  are." 

Thymert  looked  at  him.  "  You  are  kind,"  he  said. 
He  hked  the  deference  of  Staunton's  manner,  and  the 
stead}'  glance  of  his  eyes.  "I  thank  you. — Let  it 
pass,  messieurs,"  —  as  the  others  would  have  spoken,  — 
*'  I  am  sure  you  will  have  no  desire  to  make  any  farther 
allusion  to  a  young  girl  who  in  her  innocent  life  has 
done  nothing  which  merits  the  attention  she  has  re- 
ceived to-day  from  six  men.  It  is  enough,  gentlemen, 
let  it  pass.  It  may  be  we  have  all  something  to  pardon. 
I,  too,  was  hasty.  I  am  not  used  to  the  world.  I  have 
hot  blood.  Pray  forget  it.  Excuse  me,  I  will  return 
directly,"  and  he  walked  rapidly  across  the  corridor  and 
closed  the  door  of  his  sleeping-room. 

"  Is  that  door  shut?"  said  the  u-repressible  professor 


160  GUENN. 

vnth  a  twinkle  in  his  merry  ej^es.  "Then  let  me  say 
that  this  is  all  very  fine,  admirable,  —  but  it  does  n't 
hold  water.  It  is  the  most  superb  incoherence  I  ever 
keard.  He  reasons  like  a  woman.  Can  a  man  refute  a 
statement  he  has  not  had  the  patience  to  hear  ?  As  for 
the  statistics,  they  are  most  ably  prepared.  I  have 
only  to  refer  3'ou  to  —  " 

Staunton  frowned,  and  Hamor  interrupted  impa. 
tiently : 

"  Surel}^  we  have  done  enough  harm  without  contin- 
uing this  subject.  We  have  succeeded  in  insulting  a 
man  in  his  own  house,  and  a  man  whose  robe  does  not 
permit  him  to  demand  satisfaction." 

"Very  good,"  replied  the  professor  amicably,  "I 
merely  wished  to  mention  that  the  statistics  —  " 

"  Drown  the  statistics  !  "  Douglas  exclaimed  bluntly. 

"Willingly,"  returned  the  Frenchman,  laughing; 
"  but  I  presume  I  ma^^  be  permitted  to  remark  that 
your  Hero  of  Nine  Isles  is  a  great  child." 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  man  whom  I  admire  so  much," 
Staunton  said  softly. 

"What  a  pose!  Great  heavens,  what  a  pose!" 
exclaimed  Hamor,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  eyes  half 
closed,  still  seeing  the  priest  in  the  doorwa3\  "  There 
is  something  of  the  Othello  in  him.  If  I  could  see  him 
roused  to  his  highest  pitch  of  passionate  fury ! "  He 
took  out  his  sketch-book,  and  made  a  few  nervous 
strokes  representing  a  pair  of  powerful  shoulders,  head 
thrown  haughtily  back,  and  an  uplifted,  warning  arm. 

Thj^mert  now  returned  and  made  evident  efibrts  to 
restore  the  friendly  tone  which  was  lost.  But  his  man- 
ner was  abrupt  and  absent.  It  reminded  Hamor  of 
their  fii'st  interview.  "  We  have  sorely  wounded  this 
gentle  savage,"  he  reflected,  "  how  shall  I  ever  regain 


GUENN.  161 

his  confidence  ?  "  No  one  seemed  able  to  throw  off  the 
constraint  which  oppressed  him. 

After  a  somewhat  prolonged  pause  the  professor  sud- 
denly remarked,  smiling  amiably  at  them  all:  "You 
would  be  surprised  to  know  what  happened  to  me  this 
morning.  Fancy  it.  I  looked  in  at  the  vivier  on  my 
way  to  the  quay,  and  I  found  that  our  stupid  lout  of  a 
servant  had  burned  my  manuscript  upon  which  I've 
been  working  steadily  three  months.  I  have  no  notes. 
Everj'thing  was  worked  out  mathematically,  step  by 
step.  It  is  a  total  loss,  and  I  must  leave  Plouvenec  in 
two  days." 

"  What  did  you  do  to  him?"  asked  Douglas. 

The  professor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  would 
have  vivisected  him,  if  it  would  have  restored  my 
manuscript,  monsieur." 

The  silent  Alsatian  spoke :  "He  smiled  as  he  is 
smihng  now  —  and  told  the  boy  to  close  the  vivier  for 
the  day,  and  if  he  valued  his  life  always  to  remain  in 
the  service  of  a  philosopher." 

"And  you  have  been  so  light-hearted  all  day,  mon- 
sieur," Staunton  said  kindly.  "You  have  great 
patience." 

"Que  voulez-vous ? "  returned  the  Frenchman  with 
his  mocking  little  stare.     "  One  must  have  one  virtue." 

Thymert  looked  up  strangely:  "I  thank  you,  mon- 
sieur, that  you  have  told  me  that.  I  am  sorry  for  your 
great  loss.     But  I  shall  be  glad  to  remember  it." 

"  Tiens!''  said  the  professor,  smiling. 

Again  the  conversation  languished.  At  the  pleasant 
table,  instead  of  gentle  St.  Kadoc  who  with  his  Virgil 
under  his  arm  seemed  to  have  glided  in  and  taken  his 
place  among  them,  bringing  peace  and  good-will,  there 
was  now  a  little  unwelcome  angry  figure  that  their  idle 

11 


162  GUENN. 

words  had  conjured  up,  and  that  nothing  could  appease. 
A  frowning  beautiful  face,  in  a  white  coiffe  —  the  bold 
pure  eyes  of  a  young  girl,  looking  resentment  at  them 
for  daring  to  bring  her  there  among  their  men's  talk, 
their  cigars  and  their  wine.  Scorn  and  impatience 
on  the  3^oung  mouth  ^  defiance  and  suspicion  in  every 
glance.     So  she  stood  before  them  and  would  not  go. 

Thj^mert  saw  her  and  his  heart  was  sore.  To  him 
she  raised  the  lovel}^  e3'es  he  had  seen  in  her  innocent 
face  ever  since  she  was  born,  but  in  theii'  blue  depths 
he  missed  the  great  friendhness,  the  sweet  merriment, 
the  carelessness  he  knew.  The}^  followed  him  with 
grave  inquiry  :  ' '  Why  do  you  let  strange  men  tear  me 
asunder?     Is  not  my  body  ni}'  own? " 

"This  is  what  they  call  art,"  he  thought  with  a 
shudder,  replying  mechanically  to  his  guests.  He 
was  glad,  and  the}'  were  not  sorr}',  when  he  could  rise 
and  say  that  he  must  call  his  people  to  vespers.  Again 
he  fired  his  gun  ;  again  the  Uttle  boats  came  slowly 
over  from  the  other  islands,  bringing  the  maimed,  the 
halt,  and  the  blind. 

The  strangers  stood  again  in  the  rough  chapel,  through 
which  cold  sea  winds  blew  freely.  Staunton  found  a 
pathos  there,  which  he  had  failed  to  feel  in  the  morning, 
and  Thymert  had  the  eyes  of  a  hunted  animal. 

As  they  were  sailing  back  to  Plouvenec,  the  sailors 
and  the  girls  sang  light  songs,  Hamor  at  the  helm  often 
sang  with  them,  smihng,  sympathetic,  and  kind. 

Meurice  let  the  sardine-nets  trail  after  the  boat. 
The  fish,  like  a  rainbow-colored  cloud,  swept  into  them. 
"It  is  nothing,"  said  the  patron,  throwing  some  rogue 
with  an  indifl"erent  air,  —  "a  hundred  or  so.  It  is  the 
middle  of  October.  In  a  couple  of  days  they  will  all 
be  gone.     Some  years  they  are  gone  before  this." 


GUENN,  163 

He  drew  up  the  net  and  shook  it.  The  brilliant  pur- 
ple and  silver  and  blue  and  rosy  shining  things  fell 
into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  where  a  sailor  adroitl}' 
counted  them,  marking  the  tally  and  handling  them 
lightly. 

''  Strange  that  they  appear  so  suddenly  on  these 
coasts  in  spring,  and  vanish  as  suddenly  in  the  falL 
Why  do  they  come?"  said  Hamor  as  he  watched  this. 

"  To  be  caught  in  our  nets  and  packed  in  our  usines, 
to  be  sure,"  answered  Meurice,  laughing.  "We  should 
think  it  stranger  still,  if  they  did  n't  come." 

"  Selina,  Selina,  c'est  comm'  9a  que  je  t'aime," 

sang  the  girls  and  the  sailors  in  high  spirits,  with  no 
embarrassment  at  the  realism  of  certain  parts  of  the 
text,  looking  about  and  smiUng  frankly.  "  Selina, 
Selina,"  sang  sailors  on  other  boats,  catching  up  the 
refrain. 

"  This  has  been  a  memorable  day,"  said  Hamor 
thoughtfully  as  they  approached  the  Plouvenec  shore, 
and  sky  and  waves  were  tinged  with  the  stormy  orange 
sunset. 

*'  In  many  ways,"  was  Staunton's  quiet  answer. 

''Did  you  hear  what  Thymert  said  to  me  in  the 
chapel  just  before  we  left?" 

"No." 

'•'  I  told  him  I  wanted  to  paint  him  a  picture.  He 
looked  at  me  very  strangely  and  was  silent.  I  thought 
I  understood,  and  I  hastened  to  tell  him  that  the 
wish  had  occurred  to  me  during  mass  this  morning. 
When  he  found  that  I  was  not  offering  it  in  reparation 
or  atonement  for  my  misdeeds,  he  assented.  '  What 
would  you  like?'  I  asked.  'A  Christ  for  my  people,* 
he  replied.     'I  have  always  wanted  it.'  —  'And  how? 


164  GUENN. 

Blessing  the  children  ?  Walking  on  the  sea  ? '  — '  No '  — 
he  said  with  the  same  strange  look  in  his  eyes.  '  It  is 
easy  for  us  Bretons  to  bless  children,  and,'  —  with  a  kind 
of  grim  humor  — '  we  can  almost  walk  upon  the  sea. 
But  suffering  is  never  easy.  It  is  good  for  us  to  realize 
that  He  suffered.  I  want  a  Crucifixion.  And  make 
the  agony  as  terrible  as  3'ou  can,'  he  said  fiercely. 
*  Yes,  it  is  a  Crucifixion  that  we  want  at  the  Lannions.' 
I  fear  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Antwerp,  if  I  hope  to 
make  it  terrible  enough  for  him,"  Hamor  concluded 
with  a  smile. 

Staunton  shook  his  head  thoughtfully,  and  looked  far 
across  the  3-ellow  bay  towards  the  Nine  Islands.  The 
Penfret  light  was  faintly  visible. 


CHAPTEE  X. 


HE  cure  of  the  Lannions  felt 
restless  on  his  isles.  He  sat 
in  his  stud}',  and  began  a 
letter  to  his  very  reverend 
bishop.  Letter-writing,  un- 
der the  best  auspices,  was 
not  one  of  Th3'mert's  joys. 
He  knotted  his  forehead  like 
a  schoolboy,  and  leaned  ove^ 
the  paper.  Through  the  win- 
dow he  could  see  the  little 
waves  dancing  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  amber  gleams 
of  the  seaweed  in  transparent  depths.  Throwing  up 
his  hand  to  shade  his  eyes,  with  his  habitual  movement, 
he  looked  across  the  bay  towards  the  mainland,  —  a 
long,  troubled  look ;  then  moved  his  chair  abruptly, 
and  turned  his  back  upon  the  invitation  of  the  dancing 
waves. 

''  Monseigneur,"  he  began.  The  letter  had  been  long 
delayed.  He  had  much  to  say  to  the  bishop,  — instruc- 
tion and  advice  to  ask,  thanks  to  express.  Yet  the  one 
distinctly  defined  thought  in  the  cure's  mind  was  the 
desire  to  go  over  to  Plouvenec.  Moreover,  he  did  not 
wish  to  wait.     He  wished  to  go  then. 

Monseigneur,  —  With  sentiments  of  profound  reverence  per* 
mit  the  most  devoted  of  your  servants  to  inform  you  that  — 


166  GUENN. 

MoNSEiGNEUR,  —  Deign  to  accept  the  expression  of  my  most 
grateful  thanks  for  your  gracious  permission  that  — 

Thj-mert  passed  his  hand  through  his  long  black  hair, 
flinging  it  back  frpm  his  troubled  face.  It  was  here  at 
this  table  that  the}'  sat.  Onl}'  3'esterda3^,  and  it  seemed 
already'  long  ago.  Here  was  Monsieur  Hamor  with  his 
head  thrown  back,  nis  eyes  half  closed,  smiling  and 
making  smoke-rings.  Here  was  the  professor  opposite, 
sa3'ing  with  his  bland  voice  what  ought  to  be  choked  in 
his  throat.  And  the  others  had  sat  here  and  here  and 
here, — the  young  man  with  the  steady-  e3'es  and  the 
kind  voice,  the  one  with  the  great  brown  beard,  the  pale 
one  with  spectacles.  Monsieur  Hamor's  e3'es  were  not 
stead3",  —  no  ;  but  he  was  amiable.  He  was  sony  for 
what  had  happened.  He  wished  to  paint  a  picture  for 
the  chapel.  The  cure  pushed  back  the  table  violentl3', 
—  the  table  where  the3'  had  all  sat,  —  and  left  the  room 
where  the  words  had  been  uttered  which  were  ringing 
still  in  his  pained  ears.  He  stood  in  his  porch.  A 
strong  wind  was  blowing  landwards,  and  the  poor  gi'ass 
on  the  graves  of  the  drowned  sailors  was  fluttering 
with  a  message  from  the  ocean.  A  cross  was  down. 
Th3'mert  went  out  and  made  it  fast. 

"  Brigitte !  "  he  called,  standing  bareheaded  in  the 
grave3^ard. 

"  Monsieur  le  recteur,"  answered  the  old  woman, 
appearing  at  the  kitchen-door. 

*'  Do  we  want  anything  from  Plouvenec?" 

'*  But  no,  monsieur  le  recteur  knows  well  that  Mon- 
sieur Louis  has  brought  stores  enough  to  last  a  week, 
even  after  the  five  gentlemen's  breakfast,  which,  as  they 
were  prett3'  3'oung  gentlemen  with  such  appetites,  it  was 
a  pit3^  I  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  had  no  time  to 
prepare  some  of  m}^  —  " 


GUENN.  167 

He  interrupted  her  garrulous  regrets  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand. 

"  You  are  sure  that  we  need  nothing?  " 

"  There  is  buckwheat ;  there  is  mustard  ;  there  is  oil ; 
there  is  meat ;  there  is  wine,  sugar,  butter,"  —  counting 
upon  her  fingers. 

He  stooped  to  straighten  a  cross  ;  then  with  a  stone 
pounded  it  down  deeper.  "  I  must  put  up  a  cross  for 
that  last  poor  fellow.  The  commandant  said  he  would 
give  him  a  stone  one  ;  but  the  others  might  not  like  that, 
when  the}'  have  only  wood."  He  gave  a  little  smile  of 
protection  to  the  sad  little  row. 

"Tapers?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Enough  for  the/e^e  of  Our  Lady  herself  Ah,  yes  j 
everything  is  in  abundance,  and  monsieur  le  recteur 
may  rest  tranquil,  thanks  to  Monsieur  Louis,  and  may 
all  saints  bless  him  here  and  hereafter." 

"  Amen,"  said  Thymert  absently.  "  Is  there  brandy? 
We  shall  have  a  storm  to-night  or  to-morrow." 

"Enough  for  three  shipwrecks,"  returned  the  old 
woman  cheerfull}',  "  which  Our  Lady  forbid  ;  but  which, 
if  she  does  not,  heaven  rest  their  souls." 

"Amen,"  said  Thymert  mechanically,  striding  to- 
wards the  porch.  ' '  The  letter  must  wait,"  he  thought.  ' '  I 
cannot  to-day  sit  in  that  room,  at  that  table,  and  write. 
The  bishop  himself  would  be  indulgent  if  he  knew." 

The  cure  made  the  tour  of  his  parish.  His  swift  boat 
ran  over  to  Penfret.  There  was  nothing  wanted  at  the 
light-house.  He  appeared  at  the  little  fort  on  Cigogne. 
Ciojoorne  seemed  as  full  of  content  as  Penfret.  He  heard 
only  thanks  and  blessings.  The  able-bodied  men  were 
out.  The  aged  and  infirm  had  no  complaints.  The 
women  smiled  at  him  as  they  sat  in  the  doorways 
mending  nets. 


168  GUENN. 

"  Has  the  millenmam  descended  upon  m}^  poor  isles?" 
he  asked  himself  as  he  put  back  to  the  Loch.  "But 
God  be  thanked  for  the  mild  weather  and  the  good  fish- 
ing. And  do  I  seek  a  paltry  excuse  ?  Shall  I  go  over 
to  Plouvenec  onl}^  because  old  Jacques  wants  some  snuff 
or  his  wife  some  yarn?  Why  do  I  hesitate?"  He 
flushed  all  over  his  dark  young  face.  "  I  will  go  because 
I  wish  to  go," — he  threw  back  his  head,  —  "because 
Barba  bade  me  take  care  of  her  children.  It  is  little 
Guenn  who  needs  me  ?  Why  can  I  not  work  ?  Why 
can  I  not  write  ?  Why  is  my  head  a  whirlpool  ?  Some- 
thing is  stirring  in  the  air,  in  the  breeze,  in  the  sea,  in 
my  heart,  that  bids  me  go.  Is  it  not  a  warning?  And 
from  whom  come  such  warnings  if  not  from  heaven  ?  I 
will  go  to  Guenn.     Guenn  needs  me." 

He  called  little  Erec  and  set  sail  for  Plouvenec. 

Some  hours  later  when  he  arrived  at  the  village,  — 
he  met  sailors  on  the  digue  and  along  the  quay,  —  old 
acquaintances  at  every  turn,  fine  fellows  too,  from  whom 
he  gladly  received  a  word  of  welcome,  with  whom  he 
would  have  laughed  and  chatted  a  whole  free  hour,  had 
he  not  been  called  elsewhere.  They  were  rough  and 
brown,  the  sailors.  They  drank  too  much  and  swore 
and  quarrelled.  But  never  had  he  heard  from  them  in 
their  most  violent  moments  an  evil  word  about  an  inno- 
cent girl.  No,  —  only  the  smooth-spoken  strangers  were 
capable  of  that  infamy.  His  manner  grew  more  cordial 
still.  The  old  soutane  went  swinging  along  the  road, 
like  a  triumphal  procession. 

Thymert's  brown  face,  warm  smile  and  dark  aflec- 
tionate  ej^es  looked  out  from  beneath  his  broad  hat,  and 
won  souls.  Had  the  magnetism  of  his  presence  been 
less  potent,  the  facts  of  his  Hfe  would  still  have  spoken 
eloquently   to  the   hearts   of  that   rugged    sailor-folk. 


GUENN.  169 

Personal  valor,  self-sacrifice,  cheerful  endurance  and 
unfailing  kindness  are  qualities  the  rudest  of  them 
could  appreciate.  In  Plouvenec  courage  alone  covered 
a  multitude  of  sins.  The  sailors,  for  the  most  part,  had 
the  courage  and  the  sins. 

Thymert  was  a  born  leader.  Had  he  lived  a  thousand 
years  before,  his  fiery  imagination,  his  love  of  the  sea, 
his  daring,  would  have  sent  him  off  at  the  head  of  his 
flock  on  voyages  in  search  of  fabulous  happy  isles,  and 
his  deeds  would  have  been  sung  by  bards,  and  sounded 
in  Celtic  cloisters  for  centuries.  Or  he  might  have  been 
an  old  Armorican  saint  with  a  stalwart  arm  and  a  pious 
soul  —  fighting  with  a  good  will  when  heaven  ordained, 
against  a  heathen  king  —  after  the  battle  resuming  with 
ease  his  holy  meditations. 

Where  the  solemn  menhir  towers  above  lonel}-  coun- 
try ways,  and  long-haired  peasants  pass  under  gray 
skies,  and  the  vague  impressions  of  a  remote  age  float 
like  phantoms  in  the  silent  air,  one  could  behold  through 
the  long  vista  of  two  thousand  years  this  man's  strong 
presence  leading  white-robed  Druid  brethren  under 
mighty  oaks,  offering  human  sacrifice  by  the  grave  of 
a  Celtic  chieftain,  lifting  a  stern  impassioned  face  to- 
wards the  sun-god,  or  fighting  against  the  Legions  and 
pushed  back  step  by  step  towards  the  sea. 

It  would  be  easy,  indeed,  to  imagine  Th3^mert  in  any 
dominant  position  throughout  the  whole  rich  history  of 
Bretagne,  but  one  could  not  transplant  him.  In  Brit- 
tany, whether  his  cause  were  just  or  unjust,  he  would 
have  been  sure  of  a  following  and  of  loyalty  to  the  death. 
A  leader,  a  lover,  a  hater,  a  fighter,  all  unknown  to  the 
brave  priest,  looked  out  of  his  flashing  eyes,  gave  weight 
and  influence  to  his  simplest  greeting.  When  the  Plou- 
venec people  met  him  coming  along  the  lanes,  his  open 


170  GUENN. 

breviary  in  his  hand,  they  did  not  forget  it  as  when  the 
maire  or  the  judge  of  the  peace  went  by,  but  spoke  of 
it  afterwards  at  home  with  a  warm  feeling  about  the 
heart.  "I  saw  monsieur  the  recteur  of  the  Lannions 
to-daj^,"  they  would  say,  —  the  brightness  of  his  pres- 
ence reflecting  a  long  afterglow.  Plouvenec  was  uncon- 
sciously grateful  when  Thymert  walked  its  streets.  His 
little  world  was  better  and  happier  that  he  lived  in  it, 
and  if  the  most  of  them  had  been  called  upon  to  describe 
an  angel  of  mercy,  they  would  have  pictured  no  white- 
robed  winged  being,  but  only  a  sunbrowned  priest  in 
an  old  soutane. 

To-day,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  found  himself 
studying  the  well-known  people  he  met.  He  looked 
closely,  questioningl}^,  into  their  eyes,  instead  of  accept- 
ing Alain  and  Meurice,  as  such,  without  special  scrutiny. 
Then  with  an  expression  of  relief,  a  beautiful  smile,  a 
clasp  of  the  hand,  he  would  go  on.  Thank  God,  these 
were  his  Bretons.  Yet  he  asked  none  of  them  where 
Guenn  Rodellec  was,  as  he  would  have  done  only  yester- 
day,—  3^es,  yesterda}^  before  the  strangers  came.  To- 
day, it  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  ask  a  woman  —  and 
what  woman  was  so  quiet  and  so  wise  as  madame  at  the 
Voyageurs?  Guenn's  name  had  been  bandied  about 
among  too  many  men.  Not  even  to  his  frank  sailors,  who 
would  risk  their  lives  for  her,  would  he  speak  of  the 
little  girl  to-day. 

He  found  madame  in  a  small  store-room,  wiping 
winter-pears,  and  rolling  them  one  by  one  in  tissue- 
paper.  He  begged  her  to  go  on,  and  would  not  take 
the  proffered  chair,  but  stood  by  the  table  watching  the 
movements  of  her  large,  firm  hands.  Over  her  work 
she  now  and  then  raised  her  calm  eyes  to  look  at  him. 
He  began  to  walk  slowly  up  and  down  the  little  room. 


GUENN.  171 

"  It  is  quiet  here,  madame,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 
*' Quiet,  here  at  the  Voj^ageurs?"  she  thought,  "and 
the  people  coming  in  and  out,  —  and  the  noisy  common 
and  the  arrivals." 

"It  is  because  one  does  not  hear  the  sea,  monsieur 
le  recteur,"  she  answered  tranquilly. 

"  That  may  be,"  he  said  briefly. 

She  followed  him  with  slow,  wise  eyes. 

"  The  house  is  full  and  prosperous,  madame?" 

"Yes, — the  summer  guests  are  mostly  gone,  it  is 
true, — but  there  are  the  artists  for  the  winter,  and  the 
business  travellers,     I  am  content  with  the  season." 

"  The  artists  for  the  winter?"  he  repeated. 

"  Some  of  them." 

"  The  ones  who  were  at  the  Lannions  yesterday?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur  le  recteur." 

He  stood  by  the  table  and  watched  her  tranquil,  clever 
hands. 

"  It  is  quiet  here,"  the  young  man  said  again. 

She  only  smiled. 

"You  find  them  gentils,  those  artists?"  he  asked 
with  a  certain  irritation  in  his  deep  voice. 

"  Ah,  yes,  monsieur  le  recteur.  At  the  Grand,  to  be 
sure,  there  is  another  kind.  But  our  artists  are  all  gen- 
tils, diligent,  amiable." 

"Yes,  they  are  amiable, — but  they  are  strangers," 
with  a  frown. 

'- '  Now  it  is  coming,"  thought  madame,  smoothing  the 
paper  with  her  soft  palms. 

"  Do  3'OU  know  where  Herve  Rodellec  is  to-day?" 

Madame  pointed  with  her  thumb  towards  the  quay. 
The  drink-shop  with  the  little  glass-door,  through  which 
the  orange  light  shone  evenings,  was  vivid  in  his  mem- 
ory ;  and  the  night  of  the  great  catch,  the  crowd,  the 


172  GUENN. 

noise,  — Rodellec  and  Hamor  and  the  little  figure  push- 
ing past  the  men.  What  was  it  the  strangers  had  said? 
"  Down  among  the  sailors  nights?  " 

"  One  cannot  do  much  with  him,"  said  madame 
softly. 

"  No." 

"  But  Guenn  is  a  good  child."     He  said  nothing. 

She  folded  and  tore  her  tissue-paper  into  squares. 
Mter  a  pause.  "Do  you  know  where  I  could  find 
Guenn?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

Madame  was  careful  to  turn  her  large  eyes  absently 
away  from  him  as  she  reflected  :  "  Voyons.  It  is  Mon- 
day ;  there  is  no  work  in  the  usine  ;  she  went  by  with 
Jeanne  and  Nannie  ;  she  may  be  on  the  shore  ;  she  likes 
the  thii'd  beach.  I  think  I  would  go  down  to  the  third 
beach,  monsieur  le  recteur." 

"Thanks,"  said  Thymert  simply. 

He  was  not  nervous  now.  He  was  glad  that  he  had 
come  in  to  talk  with  this  woman  ;  there  was  something 
safe  and  tranquil  in  her  ways. 

' '  You  see  Guenn  every  day,  madame  ?  " 

"  Almost  every  day." 

"You  know  pretty  well  where  she  is  and  what  she 
does  ?  " 

"I  know  where  everybody  is  and  what  everybody 
does, — "  without  a  smile.  "It  is  not  difficult  at  the 
Voyageurs  ;  it  is  easiest  of  aU  to  know  about  Guenn." 

"Why?" 

"Because  the  child  is  so  pretty;  because  one  does 
not  forget  her;  because  she  cannot  help  being  heard 
and  seen ;  because  she  is  cleverest  at  her  work,  and 
merriest  at  her  play,  and  sings  the  sweetest ;  because 
she  is  more  alive  than  the  other  girls,  monsieur  le  rec- 
teur, and  worth  a  score  of  them." 


GUENN,  173 

In  Thymert's  eyes  sprang  a  glad  and  grateful  look. 
At  length  he  said  tentatively,  "  It  must  be  lonely  for  her 
at  home." 

Madame  smiled.  "  She  is  rarely  at  home,  monsieur 
le  recteur." 

After  a  moment,  he  began  awkwardly  :  "  Could  you, 
madame,  if  she  runs  about  too  much  —  would  you  — 
perhaps  have  no  place  near  you  —  it  is  so  quiet  here.*' 

"  The  Voyageurs  is  not  a  good  place  for  girls,"  she 
answered  gently  :  "  it  is  less  quiet  than  you  think.  The 
strangers  spoil  girls  here.  Who  is  so  bold  and  vain 
and  empty-headed  as  Marguerite  ?  Two  years  ago  she 
was  gentille.  I  keep  her  for  the  cafe ;  she  is  a  good 
waitress,  but  she  has  no  heart  and  no  head.  She  will 
come  to  no  greater  harm.  I  am  here.  I  must  have 
waitresses,  monsieur  le  recteur,  it  is  evident.  But  I 
will  not  let  my  niece  come  here,  or  Guenn  Rodellec. 
Did  you  imagine  they  could  stand  with  me  and  put 
away  fruit  all  the  time  ?  "  This  was  as  much  of  a  joke 
as  Madame  ever  permitted  herself.  ' '  They  would  be 
near  me,  as  you  say,  but  near  the  strangers  too.  The 
strangers  are  amiable,  but  our  girls  are  safest  with  our 
people." 

Thymert  started  and  frowned.  She  watched  him 
gently,  then  went  on,  —  smiling  now  as  a  matron  may 
well  smile  upon  an  inexperienced  boy,  with  amiabl<> 
patronage  and  imperceptible  irony,  —  for  an  instant 
ignoring  the  priest,  and  recognizing  only  the  young 
man  :  "  Believe  me,  monsieur  le  recteur,  a  rough  night 
on  the  bay  would  be  quieter  for  our  girls  than  a  dinner 
at  the  Voyageurs,  where  the  strangers  smile  in  taking 
their  soup,  and  ask  for  wine  with  a  low  word  over  their 
shoulders,  and  inquire  about  our  different  coiffes  and 
costumes  at  their  coffee.     They  have  soft  voices,  the 


174  GUENN. 

strange  young  gentlemen.  They  do  no  harm  according 
to  their  ideas.  But  often  I  ask  myself,  Wh}-  do  they  not 
let  our  girls  alone  ?  Girls  are  foolish  things.  They  do 
not  know  that  such  looks  and  such  tones  are  not  for 
them.  They  drink  in  all  they  can,  and  the  young  gen- 
tlemen, ma  foi,  they  give  all  they  can  of  their  precious,  • 
much-used  coin,  and  if  they  barely  escape  being  what ' 
they  call  villains,  they  go  away  without  a  regret. 
They  do  harm.  They  should  leave  simple  girls  in  their 
simple  ways.  But"  —  with  a  slow  upheaving  of  her 
massive  shoulders,  which  only  frivolity  could  call  a 
shrug  —  "  it  is  life,  monsieur  le  recteur,  it  is  life." 

Thymert  stood  thoughtful,  silent,  anxious,  undecided, 
—  listening  always  with  a  sadly  perplexed  look  on  his 
face. 

"Poor  young  cure,'  thought  madame,  "we  do  not 
see  our  way  clear,  and  we  have  too  big  a  heart." 

"  Voyons,"  she  began,  —  looking  at  him  with  the  full 
power  of  her  imperturbable  gaze, —  "our  Plouvenec  girls 
are  good  girls,  and  safest  with  our  people.  I  will  not 
let  my  niece  or  Guenn  or  Jeanne  live  at  the  Voyageurs 
and  lose  their  heads.  But  I  see  everything ;  I  know 
what  goes  on.  The  strangers  will  go  awa}^,  sooner  or 
later.  Meanwhile,  I  am  here,"  concluded  madame 
right  royally. 

Thymert  felt  instinctive  confidence  in  this  tower  of 
strength.  Still  madame  had  not  heard  the  five  men 
talking  together  at  the  Lannions. 

"  Good-day,  madame,"  he  said  in  his  abrupt  way,  — 
"I  thank  you.  It  is  well  that  I  have  spoken  with 
you." 

"  Good-day,  monsieur  le  recteur,"  she  politely  re- 
sponded, "it  is  always  an  honor  for  the  Voj^ageura 
when  you  come." 


GUENN.  175 

He  went  straight  to  the  third  beach.  Guenn,  Jeanne, 
and  Nannie  were  perched  upon  the  rocks  half-way  up 
the  cliff.  The  tide  was  ebb  ;  the  air  was  soft,  with  no 
chill  in  it.  October  brought  golden  days  —  for  painter, 
poet,  and  fisher-folk —  to  those  charming  coasts. 

A  couple  of  Englishmen,  eager  for  a  plunge  and  un» 
daunted  by  the  stretch  of  sand  which  lay  between  them 
and  the  far-off  shining  water,  were  striding  manfully 
towards  their  goal.  A  hero  in  striped  bathing-trousers 
looks  more  humorous  than  a  clown.  Jeanne,  Guenn, 
and  Nannie,  stretched  at  ease  on  the  rocks,  watched 
the  long  white  legs  march  over  the  sands  past  black  reef 
and  eel-grass,  and  made  unflattering  comparisons  with 
compasses,  devil's  darning-needles,  windmills,  and 
every  object  which  their  mischievous  imagination  could 
suggest. 

Guenn,  with  a  vivid  cherry-color  in  her  cheeks  and 
a  happy  light  in  her  eyes,  threw  herself  about  in  the 
most  nonchalant  attitudes,  now  with  one  foot  under 
her,  now  half  reclining,  suddenly  standing  erect  and 
on  the  alert ;  but  always,  through  every  free  movement, 
the  click  of  the  knitting-needles  went  steadily  on,  and 
the  swift  little  hands  worked  as  unconsciously  as  the 
breath  of  her  lungs  and  the  blood  in  her  veins.  If 
Breton  children  are  not  born  knitting,  at  least  their 
perfect  comprehension  of  every  intricate  double-stitch 
IS  congenital. 

So  Guenn  knitted,  and  laughed  her  careless  laugh ; 
while  under  her  meek  coiffe  an  insolence  of  health, 
mockery,  and  daring  greeted  the  world  at  large.  But 
not  Thymert  of  the  Lannions.  As  he  approached,  she 
rose  quickly,  smiling  with  pleasure,  smiling  modestly, 
as  befits  a  young  girl  who  meets  a  priest. 

''  She  won't  — she  will!  "  cried  Nannie  shrilly,  pull- 


176  GUENN. 

ing  Jeanne  down  towards  the  beach.      Guenn  looked 
after  the  deformed  child  with  infinite  indulgence. 

"  Who  won't?"  asked  Thymert. 

"She  — Guenn." 

"Why,  Nannie,  a  fish-hawk  can  talk  more  plainly 
than  you.  —  Won't  what  ?  " 

But  Nannie,  like  the  oracles  of  old,  never  committed 
himself. 

"Guenn  will  —  Guenn  won't  —  Guenn  will !  "  he  re- 
peated in  a  high,  chanting  voice,  his  pale  face  gleaming 
with  malice. 

"  Is  he  always  so  wise?"  asked  Thymert,  laughing  a 
Httle. 

"  About  me,  yes,"  Guenn  answered  with  conviction. 

After  a  brief  pause,  "  I  am  glad  to  find  you,"  the 
young  cure  said,  hesitating;  "I  came  over  expressly 
to  talk  with  j^ou." 

"Now  that  is  kind,  monsieur  le  recteur,"  returned 
Guenn,  deUghted,  looking  at  him  frankly  and  smil- 
ing. 

Thymert's  isolated  and  austere  life  presented  few  op- 
portunities of  talking  familiarly  with  women.  Brigitte 
and  the  brown  old  crones  on  the  islands  he  saw  often, 
but,  except  for  the  dress  and  the  coiffes,  they  did  not 
seem  unlike  the  wiry,  gaunt  fishermen. 

To-day  he  came  from  the  strong  and  calm  presence 
of  madame  at  the  Voyageurs,  from  her  soft  hands  mov- 
ing with  gentle  regularity,  her  velvety  eyes  that  turned 
their  slow  gaze  upon  a  man  and  stilled  his  restlessness 
like  profound  sleep  after  fatigue.  And  here  was  this 
young  girl  raising  her  blue  eyes  sweetly  to  his,  all  her 
pretty  ways  unconsciously  appeaUng  to  him  for  the  pro- 
tection he  was  unselfishly  longing  to  provide  for  her, 
a  little  thing  he  had  carried  in  his  arms    before  she 


GUENN.  Vll 

could  walk,  —  his  dead  cousin's  girl.  And  thej  dared 
in  their  smooth  coarseness  call  her  bold  and  wild  and 
rough ;  they  even  dared,  in  their  veneered  brutality  of 
word  and  thought,  to  pull  away  the  garments  from  her 
tender  form  and  leave  her  exposed  to  their  curious  gaze. 
His  heart  beat  fast ;  his  face  flushed  ;  he  was  moved  to 
his  depths  by  anger  and  pity.  He  passed  his  hand  ner- 
vously through  his  long  hair  and  turned  his  eyes  away 
from  the  little  hands  dihgently  knitting,  the  honest  face 
smiling  in  his. 

Wild?  Yes,  as  a  little  bird  is  wild,  or  a  fawn.  But 
who  was  so  bright  and  brave  as  Guenn?  What  girl 
answered  him  so  intelligently,  so  modestly  ?  Not  even 
the  maire's  daughter,  who  had  been  to  school  in  Quim- 
per.  With  a  new  thought  he  suddenly  looked  again  at 
the  girl.     Quimper?     How  would  that  do?     Why  not? 

' '  She  won't !  "  shrieked  Nannie  from  a  rock  below 
them. 

Guenn  laughed.  She  had  waited  respectfully  for 
monsieur  le  recteur  to  speak  again ;  but  monsieur  le 
recteur  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  say  after  all.  Now 
she  began  frankty,  with  a  little  explanatory  nod,  "  It 's 
one  of  Nannie's  da3^s." 

'^Ah?" 

"  Yes  ;  sometimes  I  think  his  soul  flies  on  before  him 
to  spy  out  what  is  coming.  Do  souls  have  wings, 
monsieur  le  recteur  ?  Now  there  are  revenants  ;  every- 
body has  seen  revenants.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  can 
souls  go  on  before  with  a  great  leap.  I  should  think 
so,  since  they  can  come  back  after  death." 

Thymert  knew  that  his  own  soul  was  unquiet  enough 
in  these  days  ;  that  it  had  been,  indeed,  since  that  night 
on  the  quay,  he  now  realized. 

Why,  he  knew  not ;  but  what  Guenn  said  might  be 
12 


178  GUENN. 

true.     Had  his  soul  not  come  before  him  to  the  village 
to-day  and  drawn  him  after? 

"  But  these  are  mj'steries,"  he  said  gravel3\ 

*'  And  is  it  a  sin  to  think  about  m3^steries?"  Guenn 
asked  bright!}'.  ' '  Nannie  is  a  myster}'.  If  3'ou  have 
a  m3'stery  for  a  brother,  you  have  to  think  of  it,  don't 
you?" 

"  We  may  consider  a  mj'stery  reverentl}'  for  our  edi- 
fication," he  replied  in  a  mechanical,  priestly  tone, 
"but  we  must  not  be  too  bold  and  sure.  The  holy 
fathers  in  their  cells  have  not  penetrated  such  spiritual 
secrets." 

"Ma  foi,"  said  Guenn  meditatively,  like  most  of  her 
race  a  compound  of  abject  superstition  and  marked 
irreverence,  "  it  is  a  pity,  then,  that  the  monks  didn't 
have  my  Nannie  to  stud}'  in  their  cells.  He  would  have 
puzzled  them  more  than  their  big  books."  Then,  with 
still  more  audacity  :   "  There  was  a  bad  monk  once." 

Thj'mert  smiled.     "  Was  there  never  but  one?" 

"  Well,  he  is  the  only  bad  one  that  ever  was  in  Bre- 
tagne,"  she  asserted  confidently.  "  In  other  countries, 
no  doubt.  In  Italy,  where  the  girls  are  black,  and 
wear  bracelets  on  their  ankles,  and  no  sabots,  and  travel 
about  with  hand-organs,  — in  such  heathen  places,  who 
knows  what  happens  !  "  with  a  condescending  shrug. 

"  But  this  bad  Breton  monk,  —  what  do  3'ou  know  of 
him?" 

"Oh,  he  was  wild  and  wicked,"  said  Guenn,  with 
evident  enjoyment  of  her  tale.  "He  led  many  into 
temptation.  And  for  his  sins  he  was  changed  to  stone. 
Alain  has  seen  him  near  Brest,  and  Meurice  too,  and 
many  more.  There  he  stands,  with  a  pointed  nose  and 
a  pointed  beard  and  a  cowl,  looking  over  the  water. 
And  there  he  stands  till  the  Judgment  Day." 


GUENJSr.  179 

"  And  there  he  stands  till  the  Judgment  Day,"  echoed 
Nannie  from  below. 

"  I  saw  him  once,  the  stone  monk,"  said  the  curd. 

"  There,  I  knew  it  was  true  !  "  exclaimed  Guenn  tri- 
umphantly. "Of  course  Alain  wouldn't  lie  to  me. 
They  say  he  loved  a  fisher-girl ;  and  that  was  an  awful 
sin,  wasn't  it,  monsieur  le  recteur?"  with  enjoyable 
horror. 

"  That  was  a  sin,  indeed,  Guenn." 

"And  will  he  burn  and  burn  in  hell?"  she  inquired 
with  satisfaction. 

"Who  knows?"  said  Thj-mert  wearil3^  "Perhaps 
being  changed  to  stone  was  punishment  enough." 

Guenn  settled  herself  still  more  comfortably,  and 
looked  at  the  cure  without  curiosity  or  shyness.  She 
crossed  her  feet,  knitted  fast,  and  with  quick  move- 
ments of  her  pretty  head  cast  now  a  keen  glance  over 
the  whole  broad  bay,  now  an  afi*ectionate  smile  at 
Nannie. 

"  It  looks  like  a  storm,"  she  said  wisel}^,  pointing  with 
a  knitting-needle  to  the  southwest. 

"Yes,"  Thymert  replied  absently,  without  looking. 
He  was  sitting  near  her,  leaning  his  elbow  on  a  projecting 
rock. 

"Guenn,"  he  began  stiffly,  at  a  loss  for  words,  "it 
is  hard  to  realize  that  you  are  nearly  seventeen." 

"  I  know,"  she  said  quite  gently,  looking  down  upon 
her  small  person,  and  stroking  herself  with  some  com- 
miseration ;  "  it  is  because  I  am  so  little."  She  felt  no 
impulse  to  tell  him  she  preferred  to  be  small.  Thymert 
never  roused  her  antagonism.  "  But  I  am  strong,"  she 
added  eagerly  ;  "  Monsieur  Morot  will  tell  you  so  ;  and 
at  the  Beusec  Pardon  I  raised  the  weights  nearly  as  high 
as  Alain.     No  girl  was  ever  so  strong  as  I." 


180  GUENN. 

He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  did  not  lift  his 
eyes.     With  abrupt  awkwardness  he  said  : 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go  to  school  at  Quunper  ?  " 

Guenn's  httle  brown  hands  lay  still  in  her  lap.  Her 
e3'es  grew  large  with  surprise. 

"  Me  ?  At  school  like  the  demoiselles  ?  But  no,  mon- 
sieur le  recteur!  I  should  not  like  that  at  all,"  she 
exclaimed  with  decision. 

"It  is  a  very  good  place  for  girls,"  said  the  3'oung 
man  impressively.  "They  learn  how  to  walk  and  sit, 
—  how  to  embroider.  They  pace  up  and  down  the 
sunny  quadrangle.  They  play  duets  on  the  piano.  Then 
there  are  the  sisters." 

Guenn's  cheeks  grew  crimson.  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing the  little  rings  of  chestnut  hair  back  against  her 
coiffe.  There  was  something  supernaturally  rapid  in 
the  cUck  of  her  needles. 

"Monsieur  le  recteur,"  she  said,  raising  her  long 
lashes  and  sitting  very  erect,  "  perhaps  3'ou  do  not  re- 
member that  I  left  school  at  twelve.  Can  I  not  walk 
and  sit  without  going  to  Quimper?" 

At  the  moment  one  knee  was  flung  over  the  other 
in  an  independent,  if  not  a  revolutionary,  manner,  and 
one  sabot  was  swinging  excitedly.  "  Surely  a  great  girl 
does  not  learn  to  walk  like  a  baby!"  she  exclaimed 
hotly.  "  I  can  not  only  walk,  —  I  can  run  ;  I  can  run 
as  fast  as  Alain.  As  to  embroidery,  we  can  embroider 
at  Plouvenec,"  she  added  loyally.  "  If  I  do  not  learn, 
it  is  because  I  am  too  busy  for  such  a  bagatelle." 

Her  manner  was  as  lofty  as  if  she  had  said  her  devo- 
tion to  philology  excluded  any  attention  to  waltzing  or 
lawn  tennis. 

Thymert  was  an  ardent  young  Breton,  and  this  was  a 
child  he  used  to  carry  in  his  -arms.    Beneath  his  priestly 


GUENN.  181 

robe  his  heart  was  full  of  warmth  and  pity.  He  was  sur- 
prised that  he  had  hurt  her.  "  My  poor  Httle  Guenn  !  " 
he  exclaimed' with  tender  indulgence. 

"All  right,"  said  Guenn,  tossing  her  head  noncha- 
lantly, Implying  by  this  seemingly  irrelevant  remark  her 
willingness  to  forgive  and  forget. 

"It  was  only  I  thought  you  might  like  to  be  with 
other  girls,  other  women,"  he  went  on  cautiously.  "  You 
are  always  down  among  the  men,  or  the  women  who  are 
more  —  careless  than  the  men."  What  was  it  the  stran- 
ger had  said —  "hand  and  glove  with  the  sailors,  holds 
her  own  with  the  fish- wives  ?  "  Well,  what  harm  was 
there  in  that?  None,  indeed,  if  Guenn  were  not  beauti- 
ful, and  the  strangers  had  not  greedy  eyes.  "  If  you  had 
only  liked  the  idea,"  he  said  with  timid  regret,  "  I  would 
have  managed  it  in  some  way.  I  don't  exactly  know 
how.  It  is  dear,  what  they  ask  for  the  demoiselles.  But 
if  you  would  have  liked  it,  Guenn,"  —  he  looked  wistfully 
at  her. 

"  Monsieur  le  recteur,"  smiling  saucily  in  his  face, 
"  why  should  I  try  to  be  a  demoiselle,  and  pace  up  and 
down  in  a  quadrangle?  Would  you  like  it  yourself? 
Would  you  Uke  to  learn  to  walk  like  a  great  baby? 
Bah  !  neither  would  I.  And  Nannie  ;  what  would  Nan- 
nie do  among  the  demoiselles  ?     Just  answer  me  that !  " 

"  I  could  take  care  of  Nannie." 

"He  could  take  care  of  Nannie;  ah,  ah!"  cried 
Nannie  himself  from  above. 

Thymert  started  with  some  impatience. 

"Don't  mind;  it's  only  Nannie,"  pleaded  Guenn's 
eyes. 

"And  what  would  they  do  without  me  here?"  she 
began  eagerly.  "  Who  would  run  so  quickly  at  a  word 
from  Monsieur  Morot?    Who  would  buy  his  sardines^ 


182  GUENJSr. 

as  well  as  me,  and  make  as  good  bargains  for  him  from 
the  end  of  the  digue,  when  the  last  boats  come  stealing 
in,  and  the  air  is  all  black  and  soft?  Who  would  work 
the  fastest  for  him  all  night  long  after  a  great  catch  ? 
Who  would  tell  such  jokes  that  nobod}^  could  be  sleepj'  ? 
Who  would  make  it  lively  on  the  common,  and  sing  the 
loudest  on  the  wall  with  the  women  waiting  for  the 
boats  ?  Who  would  be  everywhere  all  through  the  vil- 
lage, to  do  the  odd  jobs  so  fast,  so  well  known  as  me? 
Who  ?  "  she  cried  triumphantly. 

At  this  moment  she  strongly  resembled  her  father, 
but  in  her  innocent  boastfulness  the  cure  found  nothing 
repulsive.  "Life  and  fire,"  the  stranger  had  said; 
was  this  what  was  meant  ?  Could  he  never  forget  those 
words  ?  Must  he  alwaj's  now,  in  pain  and  confusion  of 
spirit,  be  applying  to  her  another  man's  measurement? 

"  My  poor  little  Guenn  !  "  said  the  cure.  He  wished 
he  were  an  old  graybeard.  He  wished  he  were  an  aged 
saint  who  could  extend  benign  protection  towards  this 
liot-hearted  child,  and  teach  her  to  be  calm  and  wise  as 
sihe  was  lovely  and  good.  He  almost  wished  he  were 
ji  woman.     "  My  poor  little  Guenn,"  he  repeated. 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"And  if  you  should  die  to-morrow?  And  do  j'ou 
not  know  they  can  always  fill  our  place,  —  yours  and 
mine,  child;  mine  and  yours.  If  places  could  not 
be  filled,  the  world  could  not  go  on.  The  world  fills 
every  place,  — the  dearest,  the  best,  the  most  precious, 
— just  as  the  tide  creeps  up  and  covers  the  little 
holes  Jeanne  and  Nannie  are  digging  in  the  sand  down 
there." 

"  But  that  is  cruel,"  she  said  slowly. 

*'  It  is  another  mystery,"  replied  the  priest. 

Wer  eyelids  drooped  in  sorrowful  surprise.     "  And 


GUENN.  183 

nobody  would  care  if  I  should  go  away  —  if  I  should 
die?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that,  Guenn." 

'^  Monsieur  le  recteur,  don't  make  me  go  to  Quim- 
per,"  cried  the  honest  yoimg  voice ;  ' '  don't  make  me 
go  away ;  for,  if  they  do  not  care  for  me,  I  care  for 
them ;  if  they  would  not  miss  me,  I  should  miss  them. 
Ah,  I  should  miss  my  Plouvenec !  I  should  miss  the 
red  sails  on  the  bay,  and  the  hoarse  voices  on  the  wind 
at  night,  and  the  boats  coming  in,  and  the  lights  along 
the  digue,  and  my  brave  sailor-boys, — they  are  so 
good  to  me,  all  of  them !  —  and  I  should  miss  going 
to  the  river,  and  all  the  women,  Mother  Quaper,  and 
Jeanne  —  good  little  Jeanne  !  —  and  Monsieur  Morot 
with  his  voice  in  his  beard,  and  the  lanes  between  the 
fosses  and  the  meadows,  and  the  sunshine  on  the  great 
white  fields  of  buckwheat  like  warm  snow,  and  the 
genet,  and  the  rocks,  and  the  heather.  Oh,  don't 
send  me  to  Quimper,  to  walk  up  and  down  with  still, 
black  sisters  beside  the  great  cathedral !  Would  you 
like  to  go  away  from  the  sea  and  the  boats  and  the  flame 
in  the  phare?     Could  you  breathe?     Could  you  live?" 

"  No,"  said  Th3^mert  positivel}^ 

''  Well,  then,"  remarked  Guenn  conclusively. 

"  But  I  was  only  suggesting  it,  Guenn.  Who  would 
/orce  you  to  go?     Not  I,  indeed." 

"  I  should  die  without  Nannie.  I  should  die  without 
the  sea.  But  I  will  do  anj'thing  j^ou  ask  of  me,"  yield- 
ing, womanlike,  now  that  the  danger  was  over. 

''  I  ask  nothing  of  you ;  I  think  myself  you  would 
pine  in  a  cage.  You  are  not  much  like  the  demoiselles, 
Guenn,"  he  sighed. 

''  No :  I  am  not  like  the  demoiselles,"  she  said  com- 
placently, stretching  her  feet  out  freely   and   tossing 


184  GUENlSr. 

her  head.  *'  And  now,'*  she  went  on  confidentially  and 
somewhat  dictatorial!}',  almost  as  if  she  were  talking  to 
Jeanne,  "  why  did  you  want  to  send  me  off  to  stupid 
Quimper  ?  " 

He  hesitated.  "  I  have  seen  you  running  about  all 
these  years,"  slowly  choosing  his  words  ;  "  I  have  not 
realized  till  lately  that  you  were  more  than  a  child." 

She  looked  curiously  at  him.  Child,  indeed,  to  the 
fastest  workwoman  in  the  Morot  usine  !  Had  he  been 
any  one  else  she  would  have  interrupted  him  with  a 
bold  joke. 

"  I  promised  her  to  do  my  best  for  you." 

Guenn's  face  softened  instantly-.  "  And  that  you 
have  always  done,  monsieur  le  recteur,"  she  said  with 
an  impulse  of  warm  gratitude,  seizing  his  hand  and 
raising  it  to  her  lips  respectfully,  as  if  he  were  the  gi'a}^- 
haired  recteur  of  Plouvenec. 

Thymert  flushed  and  abruptly  moved  awa}^  After  a 
moment  he  continued  :  ' '  You  children  are  so  far  away, 
and  I,  a  priest  and  a  busy  man,  cannot —  " 

"  We  children  are  so  far,  and  he  a  priest !  "  mocked 
tannic.  His  pale  face,  leaning  on  his  crossed  arms, 
peered  above  a  shelf  of  rock  close  behind  the  cure. 
Motionless,  watchful,  his  sharp  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
ThjTnert.  Guenn  smiled  her  perfect  approval.  She  was 
alwaj's  glad  when  he  came  near  her. 

"  That  is  precisel}'  what  I  said,  Nannie,"  —  the  priest 
spoke  authoritatively.  "  Be  quiet,  and  don't  interrupt 
me,  if  3'ou  wish  to  stay." 

"  She  won't,"  returned  Nannie  derisively. 

Thymert  turned  his  back,  and  went  on  :  "At  best, 
men  don't  understand  girls.  Girls  ought  to  have  moth- 
ers. I  am  always  sorr}-  3'ou  have  no  mother,  Guemu 
Xoxx  are  more  alone  than  other  girls." 


GUENN,  185 

Guenn  looked  as  if  she  did  not  understand.  Nannie 
had  crawled  to  the  side.  His  malicious  eyes  never 
moved  from  the  cure's  face. 

'*  Have  I  done  anything  that  displeases  you?  "  asked 
the  young  girl  modestly.  "  Indeed,  Monsieur  Morot  is 
content  with  me.  He  says  I  work  always  better  and 
better." 

"  No,  no,  child  !  You  have  done  nothing  to  displease 
me."  This  with  exquisite  tenderness.  She  looked  at 
him  wonderingly.     "  You  are  a  brave  good  girl." 

"Runs  about  freely  at  midnight  as  at  noon,"  the 
stranger  had  said.  He  passed  his  hands  nervously 
through  his  hair.  Ah,  how  helpless  he  felt!  "But 
after  the  work  is  over,  and  the  da}^  has  been  long  and 
full  of  talk  and  jokes  with  the  women  and  the  men,  and 
you  go  home  that  long,  lonely  way,  —  it  is  then  that  I 
mean." 

"But  I  hke  that,"  said  Guenn  brightlj^  "If  3'ou 
have  fine  ears,  you  can  hear  the  grass  grow,  and  the 
herbs  shoot  up,  and  the  trees  stretch  themselves.  You 
can  hear  them  best  by  the  menhir.  I  suppose  because 
the  menhir  itself  is  so  still." 

"But  afterwards,  at  home,  —  if  some  one  were  waiting 
for  you  there  ?  "  persisted  the  priest. 

"  Oh,  when  I  get  home  I  am  too  tired  and  sleepy  to 
think,"  laughed  Guenn.  "  I  just  tumble  into  bed  as  fast 
as  I  can.  Bed  is  the  best  place  when  you've  been  on 
your  legs  all  day." 

"  Yet  often  I  have  stood  in  the  chapel  porch  at  night,** 
he  continued  with  great  simplicity,  "  and  looked  at  the 
bay  lying  out  under  the  stars,  and  our  phare  shining  out 
and  meeting  the  light  of  the  Plouvenec  phare,  and  I 
have  felt  sorry  that  there  was  no  one  waiting  for  you. " 

"  Comment?"  said  Guenn  in  innocent  surprise. 


186  aUENN. 

*'  Our  men  take  care  of  our  fisher-girls.  The  jokes 
with  the  bo3'S  and  the  rough  talk  do  no  harm.  But 
something  new  and  strange  might  happen  to  you. 
Then  if  somebody  were  waiting  at  home,  it  would 
be  better,  don't  you  think  so,  Guenn?"  tremulously. 
"  You  are  so  little  and  young,"  he  said  awkwardly. 
^'  It  is  a  pity  there  is  no  woman  near  you,"  thinking  of 
madame  at  the  Voyageurs,  her  calmness,  her  wise  eyes. 

*' Women!"  remarked  Guenn  laconicall}^,  with  a 
scornful  remembrance  of  Mother  Nives  and  the  washing 
conclave,  —  "  women,  indeed  !  " 

"  But  that  is  wh^^  I  wanted  to  send  3^ou  to  the  nuns." 

Guenn  lifted  her  prettj'  shoulders,  as  if  she  were 
shaking  off  the  Cathedral  of  Quimper.  "As  if  any- 
body needed  to  take  care  of  me  !  As  if  I  were  a  silly 
demoiselle !  Have  no  fear  for  me,"  she  nodded  reas- 
suringl}' ;  "I  can  look  out  for  myself  as  well  as  any 
girl  in  Plouvenec,  —  or  any  gars  either,  for  that  matter. 
But  you  are  good,  and  I  know  what  3'ou  mean  about 
nights.  Sometimes  I  have  thought  myself  how  it 
would  have  been  if  she  had  lived,  —  I  remember  her 
face,  you  know,  —  how  it  would  be  to  have  somebodj^ 
there  to  tell  me  I  was  an  idle,  useless  thing,  not  worth 
my  salt,  looking  all  the  time  as  if  she  did  n't  mean  it. 
That 's  what  Jeanne's  mother  does." 

"  Ah,  then  if  anything  troubled  you,  you  could  go  to 
•Jeanne's  mother,"  Th3'mert  said  with  eagerness,  as  if  he 
had  found  at  least  the  clew  to  the  lab3'rinth. 

"Why  not?"  indifferentl}'.  "She's  good-natured, 
but  the}"  live  miles  awa}^  from  me,  and  nothing  ever  does 
trouble  me,  monsieur  le  recteur." 

"  You  like  madame  at  the  Voyageurs?"  abruptly. 

"  Wh}",  yes,  of  course.  She  made  a  tisane  for  me 
the  other  day.     I  like  to  bring  her  her  fish.     Of  course 


GUENN,  187 

i  like  madame  !  Everybody  does.  And  Mother  Qua- 
per,"  continued  Guenn  reflectively.  "She's  a  jolly, 
good  old  soul.  But  perhaps  they  are  none  of  them  the 
kind  you  mean  ?  "  she  said  interrogativelj^,  —  ' '  not  the 
kind  that  wait  for  you  nights,  and  let  you  talk  to  them 
about  what  has  happened  ?  " 

''  No,"  rephed  Thymert  slowly,  "  they  are  not  exactly 
the  kind  I  mean,  —  perhaps  not  even  madame  at  the 
Voyageurs." 

"  It  will  be  nine  years  in  May  since  she  died,"  said 
Guenn  gravely. 

"  Nine  years." 

"  And  you  were  only  studying  then,  and  I  called  you 
mon  oncle  Gabriel." 

"  Yes,  you  called  me  uncle  then." 

"And  do  you  remember  the  Pardon  at  Fouesnant? 
I  was  naught}",  and  cried.  You  lifted  me  up  and  carried 
me  on  your  shoulder.     You  gave  me  a  mirliton." 

"  You  were  tired.  You  were  so  little,  and  had  walked 
so  far.  You  were  not  naughty ;  3'ou  were  only  un- 
happy." He  had  been  always  blind  to  Guenn's  naughti- 
ness, early  and  late.  "  But  do  you  remember  all  that? 
Why,  you  could  not  have  been  more  than  four  3'ears 
old ;  and  I  was  a  great  boy  of  fourteen,  —  a  strong 
fellow,  already  like  a  man. 

' '  I  remember  it  well ;  there  are  only  a  few  things  I 
remember  better,"  —  her  face  darkened.  "But  that 
day  at  Fouesnant !  I  can  see  the  procession  with  the 
crosses  and  the  banners,  I  can  almost  hear  the  chanting." 

"  I  too,"  said  Nannie  solemnly-,  "  I  remember  it." 

"  Wh}',  you  were  not  born,"  cried  Guenn  with  peals 
of  rich  laughter. 

"  I  remember,"  persisted  Nannie.  "You  said,'  Merci, 
mon  oncle.'     He  carried  you  above  the  crowd." 


188  GUENN, 

Guenn  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  comical  resignation. 

"Nannie,"  said  the  cure,  amused,  "you  remembei 
more  than  there  ever  was.  How  would  3^ou  like  to 
come  over  to  the  Lannions  and  live  with  me  and  help 
Erec  ?  We  are  not  so  wise  as  you  over  there  ;  it  might 
do  you  good." 

But  Nannie  was  already  scrambling  resentfully 
down  the  rocks.  He  objected  to  laughter  directed 
against  himself;  he  liked  to  be  treated  as  something 
supernatural  and  incomprehensible.  Thymert's  matter- 
of-fact  good-humor  offended  him. 

"I'll  go  and  hve  with  the  other  one,"  he  called 
angrily,  with  no  attempt  at  m3'stification. 

' '  The  other  one  ?  "  The  cure  looked  inquiringly  at 
Guenn. 

"It's  Monsieur  Hamor,"  she  replied  with  a  frown. 
"  Nannie  likes  him,  —  heaven  knows  why." 

He  paused  an  instant,  then  rejoined:  "Monsieur 
Hamor  is  very  amiable.  One  cannot  in  justice  say  the 
CGntrar3\" 

"  You  know  him?"  the  young  girl  asked  abruptly. 

"Yes;  do  you?" 

"How can  one  help  it?  One  sees  him  everywhere." 
She  shook  her  head  impatiently. 

He  said  nothing,  but  looked  glad. 

"  I  hate  new  faces  and  strange  voices.  Why  should 
they  come  here  !     I  love  my  people." 

"  Guenn,'*  exclaimed  Thymert,  with  a  warm  gleam  in 
his  eyes,  "  we  are  Bretons,  you  and  I." 

He  was  happier  than  he  had  been  in  many  days.  He 
looked  suddenly  boyish  and  free  from  care. 

"  Nannie  alwa3's  calls  him  the  other  one.  Nannie  is 
60  strange,"  said  Guenn  with  uneasiness. 

"  He  is  only  fanciful." 


GUENN.  189 

"  You  cannot  judge  how  strange  he  is  unless  you  live 
with  him,"  she  continued  thoughtfully.  "He  sa3^s,  if 
you  like  any  one  your  heart  aches." 

"  Well,  it  does  ache.     Nannie  is  right  there." 

"  And  he  says  his  back  aches  and  his  legs  ache,  and 
that's  ache  enough.  That's  the  reason  he  won't  like 
anybody." 

"  Poor  little  gamin  !     Poor  Nannie  !  " 

"  But  I  think  he  likes  me  all  the  same,"  Guenn  said 
contentedly  ;  "  and  if  he  does  n't  it 's  no  matter  :  he  is  m}- 
Nannie,  he  can  do  what  he  pleases." 

The  cure  was  evidently  not  concentrating  his  thoughts 
upon  Nannie.     He  rose  and  looked  out  on  the  bay. 

"  See  !  There  's  Meurice  coming  in.  I  wonder  what 
he 's  got,"  she  pointed  to  a  sail  far  awa}'. 

He  turned  and  examined  her  slowly  from  head  to 
foot.  She  was  Ijing  as  softly  against  the  rock  as  if  she 
were  a  bit  of  moss,  —  sabots  easily  crossed,  red  ker- 
chief neatl}^  pinned,  faded  old  skirts  clinging  to  her 
closely,  brown  hands  knitting  incessantl}',  and  never 
receiving  a  glance  from  the  beautiful  eyes  frankly  up- 
turned to  his. 

"  I  have  a  prettier  one,"  she  said  innocently,  "  but  I 
like  the  old  one  better.     Did  you  tell  him  to  buy  it?" 

"I?  No,"  he  smiled  kindly,  "  I  said  nothing  about 
a  kerchief." 

Again  his  grave  glance  scrutinized  her.  "It's  as 
patched  as  patched  can  be,  isn't  it?"  and  Guenn 
laughed  heartily,  lifting  her  skirt  and  looking  at  it  with 
extreme  amusement.  "Nobody  knows  what  the  first 
dress  was  but  me,  and  I've  almost  forgotten  myself. 
That 's  a  nice  bit ;  that 's  my  favorite  patch  ;  Madame 
at  the  Voyageurs  gave  it  to  me."  She  subjected  Herself 
to  a  thorough  supervision.     ' '  It  can't  hang  together 


190  GUENJSr. 

much  longer,  3'ou  see,"  calmly  putting  her  finger  through 
a  weak  spot;, "well,  it's  all  the  same  to  me,"  she 
added  philosophically,  smoothing  it  over  her  knees. 

"The  artists  want  you  to  pose  for  them,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

"  I  '11  see  them  hanged  first ! "  she  exclaimed  in  her 
rudest  way. 

' '  Monsieur  Hamor  wants  you." 

She  colored  angrily.     "  Fool !     I  hate  him." 

"  I  knew  it !  I  only  wanted  to  hear  you  say  so.  Let 
us  not  talk  about  them,"  —  hurriedly. 

Guenn  stared.  "Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to 
talk  about  them  !  " 

Leading  up  gently  to  an  important  question  was  ob- 
viously not  one  of  Thymert's  accomplishments.  Sud- 
denly and  with  shj'ness  and  effort  he  said :  ' '  How 
would  3'ou  like  to  be  married  ? " 

Guenn  broke  into  uncontrollable  laughter.  He  waited 
patiently,  smiling  a  little. 

When  she  could  speak,  she  said,  laughing  still :  "It 
is  so  droll.  First  I  was  to  go  to  Quimper ;  that  was 
bad  enough  !  Now  I  am  to  be  married  ;  that  is  worse  ! 
Pardon,  monsieur  le  recteur,  but  I  can't  help  laughing. 
What  is  coming  next  ?  " 

"  Laugh,  child,  laugh  !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  realty  want  to  know,  I  shouldn't  like 
it  at  all,"  she  said  with  positiveness. 

"  But  many  girls  as  j^oung  as  you  marry,"  he  urged 
shyly. 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes,  younger,"  Guenn  assented  bluntly, 
as  unembarrassed  as  anj'  old  nurse.  ' '  Annaic  married 
at  fifteen.  She 's  got  four  children ;  three  are  alive 
and  one  is  dead.  I  saw  him,  the  poor  little  hamhin. 
He  was  so  white,  and  his  little  hand  was  so  cold.    I 


GUENN.  191 

felt  of  it.  Annaic  cried  all  night ;  I  should  n't  like  that ; 
oh  dear,  no  !  " 

''  I  am  dull  about  these  things,"  he  said,  always 
with  the  same  sh3'ness.  "But  it  seems  to  me  it  is  right 
to  speak  with  you.  It  seems  to  me,  if  you  had 
a  mother,  it  would  all  be  different.  Now  there  is 
Alain !  " 

*'  Alain  !  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear  !  "  Again  she  laughed 
irrepressibl}^ 

"And  yet,  last  night  I  looked  across  the  bay,  and 
wished  you  were  Alain's  wife.  I  wished  you  were  safe 
in  any  honest  man's  home." 

His  kindness  touched  and  sobered  the  girl.  "  It 
was  good  of  you,"  she  said  gently.  "  Only,"  smihng 
roguishly,   "  I  don't  want  him,  thank  you." 

"  There  are  so  many  waiting  for  you.'* 

"  Let  them  wait  —  " 

"But,  Guenn  — " 

"  Now  listen,  monsieur  le  recteur."  She  folded  her 
arms  resolutel}^,  and  looked  him  in  the  face.  "  You  are 
good  to  me.  You  are  not  like  the  men.  Alain  would 
kiss  me,"  — her  clear  eyes  did  not  falter  as  she  said  this, 
but  Thj^mert's  sank  a  moment,  —  "  only  he  would  beat 
me  when  he  was  drunk.  You  know  it  3'ourself.  Why 
waste  our  breath?  I  will  tell  you  this,  — only  you,  — 
I  have  had  blows  enough,"  she  muttered  fiercely,  "  and 
if  another  man  should  beat  me,  I  would  murder 
him  !  " 

Thymert  grew  pale.  "  O  my  God,"  he  said  under 
his  breath.  His  whole  soul  looked  out  of  his  pathetic 
eyes  at  the  young  girl  who  had  passionately  spoken 
these  brutal  truths.  "Tell  me,  Guenn,"  —  his  voice 
low  and  hoarse,  —  "  has  he  been  bad  again?  Has 
he  —  " 


192  GUENN, 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  girl  curtly.  '^IVe  said 
enough,"  — closing  her  lips  obstinately. 

"  AYell,"  she  went  on,  recovering  herself,  "  since  it  is 
3^ou,  I  will  say  it.  Alain  is  a  good  fellow.  I  will  dance 
the  gavotte  with  him,  raise  the  weights  with  him,  race 
with  him,  laugh  with  him;  but  marry  him?  never! 
Why  should  I  marry,  and  grow  old  before  my  time ! 
Bah!" 

"  Guenn,  child, — all  men  are  not  like  him.  It  is 
no  wonder  that  you  judge  by  what  3'ou  know  best ;  but 
there  is  man}^  a  brave  fellow  who  would  be  good  to 
you,"  he  pleaded  fervently,  "  and  who  would  keep  you 
safe  —  safe." 

' '  What  has  old  Jacqueline  of  her  twelve  children  ?  '* 
she  demanded  boldl3\  "  Eight  brave  sons  drowned. 
And  once  she  was  young  like  me,  strong  like  me,  pretty 
like  me.  And  she  toils  on  at  seventy,  and  hears  the 
waves  at  night  and  does  not  die  !  "  Guenn  clasped  her 
hands  above  her  head  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

''  She  has  suffered,  and  been  faithful,"  said  Thymert 
with  a  solemn  and  tender  voice.  ' '  She  will  be  comforted. 
AU  her  pain  will  be  as  nothing,  when  she  meets  her 
eight  sons  in  heaven." 

"  But  she  has  had  it  all  the  same,"  persisted  the 
girl. 

*'  And  Jacqueline  is  only  one.  And  why  should  you 
not  take  some  good  heart  and  be  content  ?  " 

"  Don't  want  any  good  heart,"  she  answered  dog- 
gedly. 

"  What  do  you  want,  child  ?  " 

"What  do  I  want?  Well,  I  never  thought,"  she 
answered  indifferentl3\  "  Did  the  bon  dieu  ask  me  if  I 
wanted  to  be  here  at  all?  "  with  an  irreverent  little  shrug. 
"  I  found  myself  here,  and  had  to  go  on,  whether  or  no. 


GUENN,  193 

But  since  it  is  you,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  want."  She 
paused,  then  went  on  with  spirit:  "  I  want  to  laugh  a 
little  longer ;  to  be  young  and  strong  and  the  prettiest 
girl  in  Plouvenec  a  little  longer  ;  to  sing  and  dance  the 
gavotte  with  Alain  and  the  other  fellows  ;  and  pack 
sardines  the  fastest,  and  buy  best  for  Monsieur  Morot ; 
and  hear  them  say,  'Oh,  yes,  that's  Guenn, — only 
Guenn  can  do  that,  —  c'est  bien  elle  ;'  and  see  the  boats 
come  over  the  bay  like  a  flock  of  birds  ;  and  joke  with 
the  sailors  ;  and  have  you  come  to  talk  with  me  like 
this,  monsieur  le  recteur,  because  you  are  so  good  and 
kind,"  — she  said  with  a  pretty  graciousness  ;  "  and  of 
course  always  have  Nannie  near  me.  All  this,  a  little 
longer  !  And  then  I  should  like  to  go  oflf  suddenly  like 
a  sailor,  —  without  any  fuss,  you  know,"  she  exclaimed 
brightly.  "  And  the  people  would  say,  '  Why,  where 's 
Guenn  Rodellec?'  and  look  at  each  other.  Mother 
Quaper  and  Mother  Nives  would  actually  stop  quarrel- 
ling a  few  moments  ;  and  madame  at  the  Voyageurs 
would  raise  her  eyebrows  to  see  another  girl  come  with 
the  fish.  They  would  be  sorry.  But  there  would  be 
no  fuss.  Why  should  I  not  be  like  a  Breton  sailor? 
Is  n't  it  better  than  to  be  like  Jacqueline,  with  her  eight 
boys  drowned  ?  Oh  yes  !  I  would  rather  be  a  sailor, 
and  drown  in  a  gale  off  Penmarch,  than  the  sailor's  old 
mother,  working  and  waiting  on  shore.  It  is  easier  for 
the  boys.  I  will  be  a  bo}',  and  if  not  quite  a  boy,  — 
at  least  I  am  Guenn  Rodellec !  " 

Her  impassioned  face,  her  clear  young  voice,  moved  him 
unspeakably.  And  was  it  not  true,  for  the  most  part, 
what  she  said?  He  was  a  simple  man,  whose  work 
was  with  rough  facts,  not  with  theories.  It  was  natural 
that  women  should^ be  gay  girls,  then  suddenly  careworn 
wives,  —  household  di'udges. 

13 


194  GUENN. 

It  was  natural  that  men  should  keep  their  youtli 
better  than  women,  that  there  should  be  merry-makings 
and  mourning,  much  drinking  and  fighting,  hard  work, 
rough  play,  laughter  and  tears.  It  was  natural  that 
blows  and  children  should  be  too  frequent  among  the 
poor,  that  the  bravest  and  best  should  never  come 
back  from  the  sea  that  nourished  and  devoured  the 
Breton  folk.  Did  he  not  know  all  this?  Had  he  not 
lived  his  life  among  such  things  ?  Was  he  not  giving 
the  strength  of  his  young  manhood  to  his  brothers, 
helping  them  not  onty  with  his  hol}^  office,  but  with  his 
heart  and  his  hands  ?  But  that  a  mere  girl  could  stand 
apart  and  judge  it  all,  he  had  not  known.  Was  it 
not  true,  then,  what  she  had  said?  Why  should  he  try 
to  send  Guenn  Eodellec  to  Quimper?  She  was  more 
of  a  woman  than  the  nuns.  Wh}^  should  he  try  to 
marry  her  off?  His  pulses  had  bounded  as  she  spoke. 
He  had  a  keen  comprehension,  both  of  what  she  said  and 
what  she  left  unsaid.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  at  the 
moment  to  refer  her  to  the  Church.  The  sailor-cure, 
it  must  be  confessed,  did  not  keep  the  ropes  of  his 
theology  quite  taut.  In  a  more  captious  ecclesiastical 
neighborhood  he  would  have  fallen  into  dire  disgrace  for 
laxity  of  form.  But  Th^mert  was  literally  a  fisher  of 
men.  He  had  saved  so  many  poor  fellows  at  the  risk 
of  his  life,  had  had  so  frequent  occasion  to  apply  flan- 
nel, brandy,  and  mechanical  friction  to  the  chill  bodies 
of  his  brothers  that  he  sometimes  forgot  or  had  not 
time  for  spiritual  counter-irritants. 

Guenn's  words  struck  powerful  chords  in  his  respon- 
sive heart.  He  saw  thousands  of  brave  fellows  lost 
at  sea,  —  he  heard  wailings  from  innumerable  haggard 
women  along  the  Breton  coasts. 

Meanwhile  the  Uttle  knitter  was  looking  earnestly 
at  him. 


GUENN.  195 

''And  now  you  understand,  monsieur  le  recteur." 

"  And  now  I  understand." 

"Must  you  go?"  she  said,  as  the  full  length  of  the 
old  soutane  towered  above  her. 

She  sprang  up  lightly,  stretched  both  arms,  and  gave 
a  series  of  little  kicks  with  one  foot,  then  the  other. 

"  When  you  sit  still  so  long,  you  have  to  find  your- 
self again,"  she  remarked  gayly,  continuing  her  pro- 
cess of  finding  herself.  "It's  the  way  a  cat  does, 
isn't  it?" 

She  was  all  color  and  warmth,  as  she  looked  up  at 
him, — vivid  cheeks,  brilhant  eyes,  bits  of  bright  hair 
blowing  in  the  wind  of  her  coiffe,  smiling  in  the 
prettiest  way  and  showing  her  small  square  teeth, — 
smoothing  her  red  kerchief  with  both  hands,  then  rest- 
ing them  comfortably  on  her  hips.  The  priest  stood, 
tall  and  dark,  beside  her. 

"Take  care  of  yourself,  Guenn." 

"Oh,  dear,  yes." 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  that  you  were  safe  —  " 

"Safe!  Well,  if  anybody  is  safe,  it's  Guenn  Ro- 
dellec.  Ask  the  others,  monsieur  le  recteur.  They 
will  tell  you  a  thing  or  two."  She  laughed  mischiev- 
ously. "  It 's  only  fair  to  say  that  I  'm  more  decent  with 
you.  I  can't  help  that.  It 's  because  you  are  so  good. 
But  sometimes,  I'm  a  perfect  little  diahleJ'  She 
nodded  repeatedly  to  convince  him  of  the  completeness 
of  her  iniquit}'. 

He  hardly  heard  what  she  said.  He  felt  as  if  rain- 
bow brightness  was  before  him  on  the  gray  cliff.  He 
must  leave  it,  must  lose  it.  His  thoughts  were  wander- 
ing and  confused.  He  had  accomplished  nothing. 
Well  — was  there  anything  to  fear?  It  was  all  so 
vague. 


196  GUENN. 

And  there  was  Guenn  at  Ms  side, — self-reliant,  full 
of  daring,  honest  and  merr3\ 

"  If  I  can  ever  help  3'ou,  Guenn,  you  will  tell  me.  If 
you  are  ever  in  trouble,  if  you  ever  feel  alone,  if  anything 
happens,  and  you  are  not  sure  and  bright  as  to-day, 
and  you  don't  know  what  to  do  or  where  to  go,  come  to 
me,  child."     His  dark  face  was  wistful  as  a  woman's. 

"  I  will,"  said  the  girl  gravely.  Something  in  his 
manner  awed  her  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Is  it  a  promise  ?  " 

"It's  a  good  Breton  promise  !  "  She  lifted  her  hand 
with  energ}'  and  brought  it  down  hard  in  his  outsti'etched 
palm.  "If  I  ever  need  help,  I  will  come  to  3'ou  as 
surel}^  as  the  winds  and  waves  come  to  the  Lannions. 
You  will  shrive  me  and  I  shall  be  shriven.  Now  are  you 
satisfied?"  Her  hand  was  clasping  his  firmly.  Her 
bold,  honest  ej'es  looked  him  squarely  in  the  face. 

"It's  a  promise,"  she  said  again.  "I  never  made 
a  promise  before.  I  hate  promises.  The  people  who 
are  all  the  time  promising  are  all  the  time  lying."  She 
scowled  and  curled  her  lips  scornfull}',  reflecting  upon 
the  conduct  of  a  near  relative.  "You  see,  when  anj^- 
bod}^  wants  anything  of  me,  I  just  sa}"  meme  chose,  and 
do  it  if  I  can .  But  I  won't  promise  :  I  've  heard  too  man}- 
of  the  shppery  things.     They  make  me  sick.     Bah  !  " 

All  the  time,  her  hand,  like  a  frank  boy's,  grasped 
his.  "But  this  is  different,"  warmly.  "You  are 
good  to  me.  You  are  good  to  the  whole  world.  I  would 
like  to  do  something  for  3'ou.  I  would  hke  to  show  3'ou 
that  I  know  how  good  you.  are  to  me,  monsieur  le  recteur. 
And  so  I'm  glad  to  promise,  though,"  laughing,  "  I  do 
think  it 's  absurd.  I  'm  afraid  of  nothing,  you  know : 
I  can  take  care  of  myself.  But  I  promise  all  the  same. 
There ! "  and  she  gave  his  hand  a  vigorous  shake. 


GUENN.  197 

Suddenly  she  began  to  examine  it  deliberatei}^  and 
with  a  curious  expression.  It  was  strong,  brown,  much 
used,  hard-skinned,  with  broken  nails  and  old  scars  and 
recent  cuts  on  the  knuckles. 

She  looked  up  cheerfully.  "  That 's  the  right  kind  of 
a  hand.  It's  a  good  Breton  hand.  I  hate  the  other 
kind." 

Thymert  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  she  meant. 
He  drew  his  hand  slowly  away,  looking  lingeringly  at 
the  young  girl. 

"  It  has  been  pleasant,"  he  said  gently. 

"  Yes,  hasn't  it?"  she  returned  with  satisfaction. 

"Adieu,  Guenn."  His  e3^es  looked  a  solemn  fare^ 
well. 

*'  Adieu,  monsieur  le  recteur,"  —  smiling  briUiantly. 

"  God  bless  you,  child  !  " 

He  turned  abruptly  and  went.  She  watched  him  a 
moment,  going  away  from  her  down  the  rocks.  He 
did  not  look  back.  He  reached  the  beach,  and  strode 
on  rapidly,  the  old  soutane  making  him  a  black,  lonely 
figure  on  the  white  sands. 

' '  Le  bon  recteur  !  "  said  Guenn  lightly,  and  ran  to 
find  the  others. 

There  was  no  storm  that  night,  yet  the  cur^  of  the 
Lannions  paced  his  chapel  tiU  dawn,  —  and  did  not 
repeat  his  Virgil. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


NE  evening,  just 
after  dinner,  the 
tliree  painters 
sat  at  a  little 
table  in  front  of 
the  Vo3'ageurs,  smoking 
and  taking  their  coffee  and 
curagoa.  The  hght  from 
the  windows  streamed 
over  the  pavement.  The 
common  was  dark  and 
noisy  with  the  voices  of  men. 
The  fort  was  a  lowering  black  mass.  Along  the  other 
shore,  the  Ughts  were  nailing  the  land  down  to  the 
water  with  long  golden  nails.  Ragged,  grinning  chil- 
dren were  hovering  about  the  tables,  greedy  for  sous 
and  lumps  of  sugar,  quarrelling  and   rolling  over  one 


GUENN.  199 

another,  in  the  dust,  when  anything  was  flung  to  them. 
The  white  coiffes  of  a  half-dozen  girls  gleamed  at  a 
little  distance,  their  figures  indistinct,  moving  like 
vivacious  phantoms,  —  their  voices  young  and  real. 

"  Don't  you  call  this  rather  cool?"  asked  Douglas. 

"Fresh, — yes, — but  I  like  it,"  Hamor  answered 
heartily, 

"  And  lively,"  Staunton  said. 

"  Plouvenec  makes  more  noise  than  Paris,"  complained 
Douglas.  "The  first  morning  I  was  waked  by  that 
cursed  market  here  on  the  common,  I  thought  Bedlam 
had  broken  loose.  A  French  pedler  auctioning  off  a 
metre  of  ribbon  is  a  dangerous  lunatic." 

"Oh!  I  know  the  fellow  you  mean,"  said  Hamor. 
"  He  laughs  delicioush^  and  sobs  and  implores,  —  all  at 
the  top  of  his  voice.  He  comes  every  Monda}^  morning 
regularly,  and  regularly  every  Monday  morning,  I  long 
to  choke  him.  I  've  got  my  eye  on  him.  If  ever  I  catch 
him  alone  in  a  chemin  creux,  —  gare  !  " 

"  How  those  coiffes  bob  about !  With  m}^  e3'es  half- 
shut,"  he  continued,  looking  through  his  eyelashes,  "I 
see  heads  and  no  bodies." 

"  Those  girls  have  singularly  pretty  voices.  I  always 
like  to  hear  them  evenings,"  Staunton  remarked  pleas- 
anth'. 

The  three  listened  an  instant.  From  the  rough  Babel 
of  the  common,  an  oath  in  an  innocent,  happ}^  voice, 
followed  by  a  charming  laugh,  reached  them. 

"  Ah,  it 's  Guenn  Rodellec  !  "  Hamor  exclaimed.  "  I 
thought  she  must  be  there  :  the  coiffes  are  so  vivacious. 
They  are  playing  some  game." 

Again  the  pretty  laugh  pealed  through  the  darkness. 

"  It 's  the  most  delicious  thing  I  ever  heard,"  Staunton 
said. 


200  GUENN. 

"  It  makes  a  man  feel  kindly  towards  the  girl  without 
seeing  her,"  added  Douglas. 

"I  always  feel  kindly  towards  Guenn  Rodellec 
whether  she  laughs  or  not,"  remarked  Hamor.  "  I 
should  feel  kindly,  if  she  should  attempt  to  poison  me. 
There  is  nothing  in  life  that  could  make  me  feel  unkindly 
towards  a  creature  built  as  she  is,  and  with  that  face." 

Douglas  gave  an  equivocal  ' '  H'm  !  " 

"It  is  curious  how  innocently  the  girl  swears," 
Staunton  said  with  an  indulgent  smile:  "it  ought  to 
be  shocking,  you  know." 

"  When  I  was  teaching  school  out  West,"  began 
Hamor;  "come,  now,  Staunton,  don't  make  an  ele- 
vated railway  of  your  eyebrows  ;  you  're  a  decent-look- 
ing fellow  when  you  keep  them  where  they  belong.  I 
did  teach  school  out  West,  you  know,  and  it 's  one  of 
the  best  things  I  ever  did." 

"My  dear  Hamor,"  protested  Staunton,  laughing, 
"I*am  sure  I  always  find  your  reminiscences  most 
edifying." 

"  When  I  was  teaching  school  out  West,"  Hamor 
went  on  gravely,  "my  j^oungest  pupil  was  four  years 
old.  It  was  an  academy  of  heterogeneous  learning, 
you  know.  My  oldest  pupil  was  in  conic  sections.  I 
was  teaching  the  youngest  to  read.  Her  name  was  — 
no,  upon  the  whole,  I  won't  tell  yo\x  her  name.  I  've  a 
sneaking  fondness  for  that  child  still :  she 's  going  to  be 
a  pretty  girl  some  time." 

"  The  discretion  of  a  man  of  honor;  the  sentiment 
does  you  credit,"  Staunton  said  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand. 

"It  was  the  name  of  a  vine;  I  think  I'll  call  her 
Mistletoe,"  Hamor  continued  soberly.  "Well,  I  was 
teaching  little  Miss  Mistletoe  to  read,  and  she  knew  oar, 


GUENN.  201 

but  failed  utterly  on  cow.  Have  I  told  you  that  she 
was  a  beauty  ?  Cherub  t3^pe  —  golden  curls  —  big  blue, 
low-set,  Celtic  eyes,  such  as  these  Breton  girls  have. 
'  Surely  you  know  this  word,'  I  said,  '  tell  me  what 
it  is,  my  dear;  you  know  it,  I  am  sure.'  Mistletoe 
raised  her  angelic  face  from  her  primer  and  smiled 
confidingly.  'I'll  be  damned  if  I  do,'  she  said  very 
gently.  So,  you  see,  America  can  produce  this  sort  of 
thing." 

"  America  can  produce  most  sorts  of  things,"  Staun- 
ton remarked  civilly. 

"As  to  this  swearing,"  Hamor  continued,  "it  is 
positively  less  offensive  to  me  from  these  girls  than 
slang  from  girls  who  ought  to  know  better.  That  oath 
of  Guenn  Rodellec's  just  now,  with  her  voice  clear 
as  crystal,  —  sounded  less  coarse  than  '  fast '  society- 
talk." 

He  now  began  snapping  lumps  of  sugar  with  his 
thumb  and  finger  towards  the  boys,  hovering  around 
like  birds  of  pre3\ 

"You  encourage  those  little  vagabonds,"  Staunton 
said  carelessly. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  want  to  do.  I  'm  going  to  en- 
courage one  of  them  surprisingly.     Wait." 

Emboldened  by  the  rain  of  sugar-lumps,  the  boys 
drew  nearer.     Hamor  called  many  of  them  by  name. 

"Ah,  there's  my  friend  Kadoc.  How  are  you, 
Kadoc?" 

Kadoc  grinned,  looked  sheepish,  and  said  nothing. 

"And  Nannie,  upon  my  word.  How  are  3^00, 
Nannie?" 

"  How  are  3'ou  yourself?  "  replied  the  boy  boldly. 

"  Gimme  a  cigarette,"  called  a  shrill  voice,  "  and  I 'HI 
stand  on  my  head." 


202  GUENN. 

"  He  can't  stand  on  his  head  worth  a  sou,"  sneered 
another  ;   ''let  me  stand  on  mine,  m'sieu." 

' '  I  want  the  very  best  kind  of  a  performance  for  my 
money,"  remarked  Hamor  gravely;  "don't  offer  me 
an}^  second-rate  shows." 

' '  Three-legged  race,  m'sieu  ?  "  "  Sack-race,  m'sieu ?  " 
"Wrestling,  m'sieu?"  shrieked  a  dozen  boj's,  deeply 
excited  by  this  unwonted  notice. 

"Everything,  —  your  whole  repertoire;  but  first  I 
want  some  more  cigarettes." 

This  was  the  signal  for  a  general  scrimmage,  each 
insisting  upon  being  chosen  for  the  commission.  Oaths, 
blows,  and  much  rolling  on  the  ground  monopolized  the 
whole  assembly,  except  Nannie  Kodellec,  who  stood 
apart  and  watched  Hamor.  The  boy  felt  that  a  great 
and  memorable  moment  was  approaching. 

At  last  Hamor  succeeded  in  making  himself  heard. 
"  Be  quiet :  behave  yourselves,"  he  called  sternly. 

"  Send  the  noisy  little  brutes  off,  Hamor,  won't  you?  " 
Staunton  said,  with  a  3^awn. 

"  Not  quite  yet,  Staunton,  if  you  don't  mind.  Boys, 
stand  in  a  row,"  he  commanded. 

They  obeyed  —  fourteen  ragged,  dirt}^,  grinning,  eager 
little  bo3^s.  What  was  the  m'sieu  going  to  do?  The 
irregular  line  of  vagabonds  thiilled  and  swayed  with 
excitement. 

"Now,"  said  Hamor  solemnly,  "the  honest  and 
good  bo3's  hold  up  their  hands." 

An  eloquent  pause,  then  awkward  laughter  and  scuf- 
fling of  feet,  some  in  sabots,  some  bare.  At  length, 
from  the  end  of  the  line,  Nannie  Rodellec,  grinning 
from  ear  to  ear,  raised  his  long,  misshapen  arm.  AVhen 
this  was  perceived,  a  shout  of  derision  bui'st  from  the 
ethers  and  every  hand  flew  up. 


GUENN.  203 

*'  Ah,  this  is  refreshing  ;  fourteen  honest,  good  boys  ! 
I  never  saw  so  manj^  in  my  life  before." 

"  Fourteen  dirt}^  little  scoundrels  ! "  commented  Doug- 
las. "  Moreover  you  are  offering  a  premium  for  hypoc- 
risv." 

"  Oh,  no !  they  know  it's  a  joke  as  well  as  you  do: 
look  at  their  faces.     Nannie  Rodellec  !  " 

Nannie  stepped  forward  with  grotesque  dignity.  The 
white  coiffes  had  drawn  nearer.  Two  girls,  arm-in-arm, 
were  bending  forward,  watching  breathlessly. 

At  this  moment  madame's  placid  presence  filled  the 
doorway. 

"  Nannie,  I,  think  I  would  rather  have  you  buy  my 
cigarettes." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  the  child  gravely. 

"  In  fact,  you  may  always  buy  them  for  me.'* 

Violent  expressions  of  envy  and  disappointment  ech- 
oed along  the  line. 

'*  I  knew  you'd  say  that,  too,"  observed  Nannie. 

"  Did  you,  indeed?  Well,  that's  clever!  You  take 
this  paper  and  bring  me  the  same  brand,  will  you?" 

"  I  know  the  kind  you  smoke,"  answered  Nannie, 
disdaining  the  paper,  his  pale  face  fixed  on  Hamor's. 

"  If  you  know  so  much,  tell  me  what  I  have  in  my 
hand." 

The  boy  looked  wizened  and  anxious  ;  then  he  turned 
and  scowled  fiercely  at  the  line  of  sneering,  leering 
gamins  waiting  for  his  downfall.  He  cast  another 
nervous  glance  at  the  strange  messieurs  whom  he  was 
longing  to  impress  with  his  cleverness.  There  were 
Guenn  and  Jeanne,  too,  and  madame  in  the  doorwaj', 
and  some  people  at  the  next  table.  It  was  a  clear  case 
of  "thirty  thousand  foes  before,  and  the  broad  flood 
behind;"   only  poor   Nannie   did  not   belong  to  that 


204  GUENN. 

grade  of  civilization  in  which  schoolbo3's  spout  Macau- 
lay's  ballads,  and  therefore  did  not  know  how  to  define 
his  conflicting  emotions. 

Hamor  was  watching  him  with  a  pleasant  smile.  It 
happened  that  the  painter  was  holding  his  cigarette 
between  two  fingers,  but  Nannie  could  not  read  his 
face. 

The  child  drew  his  breath  and  took  the  perilous  leap. 
''Two  francs,"  he  announced  in  his  shrill,  audacious 
voice.  Hamor  opened  his  hand,  and  disclosed  a  two- 
franc  piece.  This  was  the  proudest  moment  of  Nannie's 
life. 

The  other  boys,  strong,  large,  swift  of  foot,  stood 
abashed  and  open-mouthed.  The  little  humpback  was 
master  of  the  situation.  His  ej^es  glittered,  he  remained 
motionless  before  the  table,  his  long  arms  hanging 
straight  down  at  his  sides. 

Hamor  laughed  heartil}'.  "Nannie,  we  are  kindred 
spirits,  —  we  beheve  in  ourselves.  Here,"  —  giving 
him  the  mone}^  ' '  Now  why  do  you  suppose  I  trust 
you  with  all  that  ?     Because  I  think  3-ou  're  honest  ?  " 

The  boy,  di'opping  his  role  of  prophet  and  seer,  with 
a  flash  of  natural  humor,  stepped  nearer  and  lowered 
his  voice. 

"  Because  you  know  I  'm  the  onl}"  fellow  in  Plouvenec 
that  can't  cheat  the  police,"  pointing  significantly  at 
his  own  back. 

"  Right  again,  Nannie.    We  are  friends  for  life.    Now 

go." 

The  two  girls  came  always  nearer  and  nearer.  Hamor 
Appeared  not  to  see  them. 

Madame  stood  tranquilly  in  the  doorway,  enjoying 
the  beaut}'  of  the  night. 

Staunton  had  been  patiently  waiting  for  Hamor's  freak 


GUENN.  205 

to  die  a  natural  death.  Looking  up,  he  suddenly  saw 
the  two  coiffes,  and  smiled.  "It's  beginning  to  dawn 
upon  me  that  what  I  've  been  taking  for  a  roaring  farce 
is  after  all  fine  strategy  ;  but  it 's  a  bore  all  the  same, 
3'ou  know." 

"I'm  not  through  3'et,"  laughed  Hamor.  The  line 
was  writhing  in  impatience.  "Here,  you  Legion  of 
Honor,  now  it 's  your  turn.  Attention  !  Right  wheel, 
halt !  When  I  say  three^  start.  The  race  is  open  to 
all,"  —  holding  his  watch  in  his  hand.  "  Round  the  cor- 
ner to  the  road  by  the  bay,  down  to  the  lighthouse,  home 
along  the  quay.  Purse  will  be  collected  while  you.'re 
gone." 

"Oh,  I'll  contribute  generously,"  said  Staunton. 
"  I  'm  always  ready  to  pay  high  for  their  absence." 

"But  there  are  some  beauties  among  them,"  Hamor 
rejoined  earnestly.  "  Two  I  want  for  my  group.  I 
like  them  to  feel  easy  with  me,  you  know.  Look  at  that 
big  one,  ready  for  the  start.  Look  at  his  pose,  his  legs, 
his  bare  chest,  and  his  strained  expression.  I  never 
saw  anything  so  good." 

"He  is  good,"  assented  Douglas.  "I've  been 
watching  him." 

"Now,  boys,  run  fair;  no  pushing,  no  tricks.  I 
won't  Ksten  to  any  complaints.  Three  prizes.  Nannie 
shall  be  umpire.     One,  two,  three,  —  Go  !  " 

Off  went  the  ragged  horde  like  deer.  Two  boys 
remained  behind.  "Why  didn't  you  run?"  asked 
Hamor. 

They  looked  foolishly  at  each  other.  "I'm  saving 
up  for  the  wrestling,  m'sieur,"  said  one. 

"Ah,  very  good." 

"  Kadoc  will  come  in  first  anyhow,  m'sieur,"  the  sec- 
ond boy  explained,  "  on  a  long  race,  yo\x  know,  m'sieur ; 


206  GUENN.     ■ 

but  if  3-0U  '11  have  a  short  one,  I  don't  mind  running  with 
him  m^'self,  m'sieur." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Hamor  politely.  "  I  'm  sure  you  are 
very  kind." 

' '  You  see  you  are  expected  to  organize  a  complete 
circus,"  Staunton  remarked.     "  I  congratulate  you." 

"  Well,  it's  a  very  good  puppet-show  so  far.  What 
wires  are  you  going  to  pull  now  ?  "  inquired  Douglas. 

"I  am  reflecting."  He  saw  perfectly  that  the  two 
girls  at  the  side  were  very  near  him.  "Nannie  must 
collect  the  purse,"  he  said  in  French.  "They'll  give 
some  sous  at  that  table,  and  more  in  the  cafe." 

Guenn  Rodellec  was  instantly  at  his  elbow,  looking 
threateningly  at  him.  Jeanne  hung  on  her  arm.  Ma- 
dame came  quietly  from  the  doorway,  and  stood  behind 
them. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  my  brother  alone!"  Guenn 
exclaimed  passionatel}'. 

"  Why,  Guenn,  are  3'ou  there?  Good-evening."  His 
voice  expressed  pleased  surprise.  "  And  Jeanne  too  ! 
Are  you  waiting  to  see  the  boys  come  up?" 

"  What  do  I  care  about  the  boys?  I  tell  you  to  let 
my  Nannie  alone,"  she  cried  in  a  hard,  imperious  voice. 

"  Guenn,"  began  Hamor  kindly. 

"You  were  laughing  at  him,  I  tell  you.  Y^ou  were 
mocking,  —  you  know  3'ou  were  !  I  saw  your  face." 
She  stamped  her  foot.     Her  voice  trembled. 

"My  dear  child,  you  really  misunderstand.  I  was 
doing  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  rather  inclined  to 
think  Nannie  was  laughing  at  me."  Then  very  gently  : 
"Think,  Guenn,  have  I  done  anything  but  give  him  a 
pleasure  ?  He  cannot  run  races  ;  he  cannot  wrestle  ;  he 
cannot  stand  on  his  head  ;  he  is  not  like  the  others,  — 
poor  Nannie ;  but  he  likes  to  go  about  with  them,  and 


GUENN.  207 

he  bears  many  a  hard  knock  and  push  and  taunt,  merely 
that  he  maj'  keep  his  place  in  the  ranks-  Well,  I  have 
made  him  happy,  that  is  all.  He  likes  to  feel  impor- 
tant.     We  all  do.     Have  I  done  any  harm  ?  " 

She  stood  listening  as  if  under  a  spell,  —  breathing 
hard,  her  eyes  dilated,  staring  at  Hamor,  pulling  ner- 
vously at  her  apron.  His  voice  was  both  laughing 
and  tender.  It  was  true,  what  he  said  of  Nannie,  per- 
fectly true.  It  was  what  she  felt,  but  no  one  had  ever 
expressed  it  in  words  to  her  before.  She  was  sorr}',  — 
generous  enough  to  wish  to  say  so,  —  but  she  could 
not  speak. 

"  How  can  you  be  angry,  Guenn?"  said  the  tender 
voice.  "Would  I  hurt  Nannie?  Absurd,  child  — 
absurd." 

Hot  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  She  stood  helpless 
and  ashamed.     "  You  beauty  !  "  thought  Hamor. 

"Monsieur  is  too  amiable  to  hurt  anybody,  I  am 
sure,"  said  madame's  passionless  tone  from  behind 
them  ;  "  and,  Guenn,  the  gentlemen  must  amuse  them- 
selves in  their  own  wa}'.  Their  waj^s  are  not  our  ways. 
Come,  mes  enfants  " — laying  hands  of  quiet  proprietor- 
ship on  the  shoulders  of  the  two  girls.  "  I  have  some- 
thing to  show  3'ou.  Good-evening,  gentlemen.  Amuse 
yourselves  well.  You  make  the  boys  happy  and  it  is  a 
pleasant  evening  for  a  little  sport.  The  season  holds 
well,  messieurs,  —  happily  —  " 

She  walked  the  young  girls  towards  the  door.  Guenn 
felt  that  she  was  being  morally  influenced,  as  well  as 
physically  propelled.  It  was  madame, — yes.  But 
that  soft  pressure  on  the  red  kerchief  was  new  to  the 
girl.  The  weight  of  it  was  irksome  to  her  rebellious 
heart.  She  drew  up  her  shoulder  with  a  little  impa- 
tient movement.     Madame  smiled  and    would   not  be 


208  GUENN. 

shaken  off.  Guenn,  like  Lot's  wife,  looked  back.  She 
saw  Nannie  bringing  the  cigarettes,  and  giving  them  to 
Hamor  with  an  important  air,  —  the  pale  malicious  face 
excited  and  happy.  He  took  his  place  confidently 
by  Hamor's  chair.  With  one  bound  she  had  escaped 
from  the  gentle  captivity.  Flushing,  brilliant,  beauti- 
ful, the  light  from  the  windows  falling  broadly  upon 
her,  she  stood  again  b}^  the  surprised  young  men,  "I 
was  just  hateful!  "  she  exclaimed  impetuously. 

"  Guenn,"  remonstrated  Hamor. 

"  Well,  I  was,"  she  said,  and  flew  back  to  madame. 

A  long  whistle  was  Douglas's  only  comment. 

After  a  pause,  Staunton  took  ofi"  his  hat  and  said» 
gravely,  "Salut!" 

Hamor  smiled. 

"Nannie,  collect  the  purse.  You  saw  the  bo3^s  go 
round  the  corner.     Who's  going  to  win?" 

"Kadoc." 

Madame  convoyed  the  two  girls  to  the  kitchen  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  quite  removed  from  the  revels. 
Jeanne  was  gentle  and  passive  and  not  without  pleas- 
ing anticipations.  She  knew  the  kitchen  and  madame. 
Guenn  looked  restless  and  moody. 

"Why  can't  we  go  out  and  see  the  fun?"  she  de- 
manded with  suspicion. 

"  It  was  some  lace  I  wanted  to  show  3'ou,"  began 
madame  placidly.  "  I  shall  have  a  bit  left  for  Sunday 
coifies  for  j^ou  and  Jeanne." 

"  Guenn  likes  lace,"  Jeanne  suggested  pacifically. 

"Yes,  but  it's  lively  out  there,"  Guenn  muttered, 
scowling  and  twisting  herself  about. 

"You  would  rather  see  the  lace  another  time?  It 
is  a  prett}"  pattern." 

"It's  fun  to  see  the  boys  come  up,"  said  Guenn, 
hesitating. 


GUENN.  209 

*'  Let  us  go  out  then.  It  is  quite  immaterial  to  me. 
I  had  prepared  a  little  pleasure  for  you,  but  it  can 
wait."  Calm  as  she  had  led  them  in,  she  led  them 
out. 

*'I  hke  you,  madame,"  cried  Guenn  impulsively. 
Madame  laid  her  hand  again  on  the  young  girl's  shoul- 
der. This  time  she  did  not  try  to  shake  it  off.  It  was 
like  a  highly  temperate  caress. 

Guenn  stood  quiet  and  tractable  with  madame  by 
the  door,  the  calm  hand  resting  on  her  shoulder,  and 
presently  the  bare  feet  of  the  runners  sounded  on  the 
hard  ground,  and  their  dark  forms  began  one  after 
another  to  appear:  first  Kadoc,  who  threw  himself 
panting  on  the  earth ;  in  a  quarter  of  a  minute  young 
Meurice,  who  also  dropped  speechless  ;  then  the  most  of 
them  in  stragghng  fashion,  with  some  bringing  up  an 
ignominious  rear.  These  made  loud  explanations,  to 
which  no  one  listened,  angrily  demonstrating  the  occult 
causes  of  their  failure.  Hamor  hushed  them  perempto- 
rily. He  began  to  take  a  boyish  pleasure  in  his  circus. 
More  coiffes  gathered  by  the  bright  doorway  where 
madame  stood  Hke  the  goddess  of  wisdom,  silent  and  aU- 
seeing.  Some  men  came  over  from  the  common, 
attracted  by  the  excitement. 

Alain  was  in  a  most  maudlin  state  of  romantic  in- 
toxication. He  sidled  up  to  Guenn  and  made  a  bold 
remark  displeasing  to  her  fancy.  She  turned  with  one 
of  her  swift  motions,  planted  both  hands  on  his  breast, 
and  gave  him  so  strong  a  push  that  he  staggered  vio- 
lently back.  The  men  shouted,  the  girls  laughed,  — 
Guenn  resumed  her  position,  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
nodding  good-humoredly  at  madame  and  remarking, 
''  He'U  get  as  much  every  time." 
Madame  smiled.  There  was  no  danger  in  this.  Thy- 
14 


210  GUENN. 

mert  himself  would  have  no  fear  of  Guenn's  roughest 
joke  with  Alain.  Madame  was  not  imaginative,  but 
to-night  Thymert's  dark  troubled  eyes  presented  them- 
selves vividly  before  her. 

Meanwhile  Hamor  was  organizing  his  athletic  sports. 
Nannie  Rodellec  gave  clever  suggestions  and  informa- 
tion, classifying  the  bo3's  impartially,  burying  all  pri- 
vate animosity,  his  spirit  mounting  to  the  exalted 
occasion.  He  distributed  the  prizes  with  an  urbanity 
never  before  observed  in  him.  The  boys  were  too 
much  impressed  to  laugh.  Only  once  did  he  forget 
the  dignity  of  his  role.  A  small  fat  bo}"  who  could  not 
run,  and  whom  disappointment  had  rendered  bitter, 
struck  Nannie  in  the  face  as  he  passed.  Nannie's  long 
arm  returned  the  gratuitous  blow  with  the  rapidity  of 
thought,  but  this  silent  exchange  of  courtesies  in  no 
way  interfered  with  the  able  execution  of  his  ofllcial 
duties. 

Under  the  great  oak  on  the  edge  of  the  common 
stood  a  group  of  older  men,  in  shadow.  Madame 
brought  out  a  couple  of  lanterns  which  illumined  the 
small  wrestlers,  stripped  to  their  ragged  shirts  and 
trousers.  Kadoc  and  Meurice,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
eye  to  eye,  rough  heads  together,  were  closing  with 
the  energy  of  young  bisons.  The  judge  came  out  from 
the  cafe  and  sat  down  by  Hamor  with  a  friendly  and 
paternal  air.  From  the  darkness  of  the  common, 
Mother  Nives  fixed  upon  him  a  leer  of  such  dimensions 
that  a  sensitive  organization  would  have  felt  ill  at 
ease,  in  its  unseen  presence. 

Mother  Quaper  was  in  brilliant  spirits.  Had  not  her 
Kadoc  distinguished  himself?  All  the  women  standing 
about  in  the  dark  were  knitting.  The  night  gi'ew  cooler 
and  more  cloudy,  the  fortress  was  a  low  frowning  pile 


GUENN.  211 

of  turrets  and  battlements,  disclosing  itself  by  the  light 
of  one  feeble  lantern  on  the  drawbridge. 

*'  How  in did  m}'  bo}^  know  that  painter?"  de- 
manded Herve  Rodellec,  leaning  against  the  trunk  of 
the  great  oak  and  smoking  a  short  pipe.  "  That's 
what  I  want  to  know." 

"Well,  it's  a  mighty  good  thing  to  know  the  paint- 
ers.  It  means  a  good  many  francs  a  month,"  his 
friend  Hoel  answered. 

"  I  would  n't  ask  a  sou  to  know  that  fellow  the  way 
I  want  to  know  him,"  muttered  Rodellec  grimly  ;  "  only 
it  isn't  a  way  he  would  enjoy.  He'd  stop  grinning 
then.     It  would  be  unhealthy  for  his  grin." 

"I  don't  know  but  I'd  like  to  help  spoil  his  grin 
too,"  remarked  Loic  Nives.  "What  right  has  a 
strange  gars  to  go  grinning  about  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  he  doesn't  do  anything  worse,  let  him  grin 
on,"  said  Hoel. 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  don't  like  it,"  exclaimed  young 
Nives  with  an  oath.  "  Look  at  him  now.  Look  at 
the  girls  staring  at  him.  Jeanne  and  Guenn,  —  and  all 
of  them  — " 

"  You're  a  brave  lad,  Loic,"  Rodellec  said  with  his 
cordial  air,  and  a  hearty  slap  on  Mves's  shoulder.  "  I 
wish  I  had  a  son  like  you." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  Loic  answered 
awkwardly,  laughing,  and  shuffling  from  one  foot  to 
another. 

"  We  '11  see,  we  '11  see,"  Rodellec  returned  encourag- 
ingly. "I  never  force  my  motherless  children;  my 
wife  is  an  angel  now."  He  wiped  his  eyes  piously. 
"  I  never  force  them  ;  but  we  '11  see,  my  boy  —  " 

*'  Jeanne  Ronan  gets  fifty  francs  a  month,"  said 
Mother  Quaper's  voice  near  by.     "  It 's  a  good  bit  now 


212  GUENN. 

that  the  usines  are  closed  ;  and  as  to  the  work,  —  well, 
it  is  nothing." 

"  Hein?"  said  Rodellec,  pricking  up  his  ears. 

' '  I  suppose  it 's  sitting  still  and  looking  prett}^  Ma- 
dame Quaper,"  returned  another  harsh  voice  from  the 
group  of  women.  "  That  would  be  mighty  hard  work 
for  some  folks." 

"  You  're  right  there,  Madame  Nives,"  retorted  the 
Quaper,  undisturbed.  "  The  3'oung  gentlemen  don't 
seem  to  trouble  their  heads  much  about  any  of  us  old 
women,  but  there  's  a  great  difference  between  folks  as 
was  good-looking  once,  and  folks  as  was  n't." 

A  querulous  voice  began :  "  There  's  no  accounting 
for  their  tastes.  Is  n't  my  girl  a  fine  plump  wench  ? 
Well,  I  brought  her  to  them,  to  these  ver}^  three  at  the 
table ;  they  are  at  Morot's  granary,  you  know.  They 
thanked  me,  looked  at  her  once  over  their  shoulders  ;  one 
of  them  said  she  was  not  exactly  the  style  of  beauty  he 
required.  They  all  turned  their  backs,  went  on  with 
their  painting,  and  left  me  plantee-la.  I  explained  it 
'all  to  them,  but  they  never  opened  their  lips ;  except 
when  I  went,  that  one  at  the  right  said,  '  Good-day, 
madame,'  as  smooth  as  you  please.  Everybod}^  knows 
they  want  Guenn  Rodellec.  Now  I  don't  say  Guenn 
has  n't  a  pretty  face  enough,  and  is  n't  spry ;  but  my 
girl  would  make  two  of  her,  and  no  mistake." 

"Hark!"  said  Rodellec  again.  "Fifty  francs,  did 
they  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  by  weight,"  answered  Mother  Quaper,  with  a 
broad  laugh.  "  Two  of  her  by  weight,  sure  enough. 
I  can't  say  I  know  what  the  painters  want.  I  know 
my  trade.  It 's  enough  for  one.  I  suppose  they  know 
theirs.  It  seems  to  pay  better  than  washing.  I  wished 
I'd  learned  it  when   I  was   young.     They   are   civil- 


GUENN.  213 

spoken,  if  they  are  a  little  cracked  in  the  upper  story ; 
but  if  they  only  want  weight, — well,  there's  a  good 
many  things  they  can  paint,  — things  with  horns,  things 
with  snouts,  things  with  coiffes." 

"Jeanne  Ronan  says  they  would  pay  Guenn  any 
price,"  continued  the  jealous  mother  of  the  unsuccessful 
aspirant,  following  her  train  of  thought  unmoved  hj 
the  general  tittering. 

"She'd  better  go  and  pose  then,  and  not  put  on 
such  airs,"  said  another  unsought  maiden. 

"I  don't  see  why  she's  any  better  than  anybody 
else,"  added  a  third,  with  a  sniff.  "  She  laughs  in  their 
faces." 

"  She's  that  proud,"  chimed  in  Marie,  —  "like  a 
demoiselle,  — m}^  grandmother  saj^s  —  " 

"  Confound  your  grandmother,  and  all  her  brood," 
Mother  Nives  roared.  "  Whatever 's  the  matter  with 
Guenn,  she  can  make  a  joke  and  a  laugh,  which  is 
more  than  you  stupid  things  can  do,  to  save  your  silly 
souls  —  " 

"And  perhaps  you  can  all  boss  Guenn  Rodellec ; " 
and  Mother  Quaper  turned  on  the  girls  with  her  favorite 
tone  of  pleasing  satire.  "  Perhaps  you  can  tell  the 
wind  where  to  blow,  the  tide  when  to  turn,  monsieur  le 
commandant  how  to  sail  the  Merle,  and  "  —  grandly  — 
"  me  and  Madame  Nives  how  to  wash  linen." 

"  Perhaps  !  "  exclaimed  Mother  Mves,  —  her  great 
voice  hoarse,  her  soul  flattered  by  this  tribute  from 
her  colleague  :  "  and  perhaps  it 's  your  particular  affair 
what  Guenn  Rodellec  does  anyhow,  and  whether  she 
earns  sixty  francs  a  month,  or  throws  it  in  the  painters' 
faces." 

"Perhaps  it's  mine!"  muttered  Rodellec.  "Sixty 
francs,"  he  reflected      "  What  a  fool  I  've  been  !     And 


214  GUENN. 

then  I  can  get  at  him  easy.  Sixty  francs?  Why  have 
I  never  heard  of  this  before  ?  I  thought  it  was  a  few 
sous  the  girls  get.  And  she  refuses,  and  tosses  her 
head  and  laughs  !  Sixty  francs,  and  the  usine  closed  ! 
By  the  blind  eyes  of  Saint  Herve  of  Plouvenec  !  —  " 

The  women  moved  on.  Madame  Nives  and  Madame 
Quaper,  uniting  only  for  sublime  moments,  had  already 
reverted  to  their  pristine  isolation. 

"  Well,  that's  a  round  sum  of  money  to  pay  a  girl 
for  doing  nothing.  Don't  I  wish  I  had  a  daughter,'* 
Hoel  chuckled. 

Eodellec  looked  across  to  the  door  where  Guenn 
stood  in  the  full  light.  She  was  laughing,  talking, 
moving  vivaciously,  knitting  fast,  happy  in  Nannie's 
glory. 

"  Rodellec  has  more  sense,"  3^oung  Nives  declared. 
"What's  the  use  of  sending  our  girls  to  have  their 
heads  turned  forever,  so  that  they  won't  look  at  a  good 
fellow  unless  he  's  all  the  time  telling  them  how  hand- 
some the}^  are.  Is  that  what  a  girl  is  for?  To  put  her 
up  before  you,  like  one  of  the  blessed  saints  in  church, 
and  keep  3'our  distance  ?  Well,  that 's  what  our  girls 
expect,  after  this  cursed  painter  nonsense.  I  say  a 
girl  ought  to  have  a  civil  tongue  in  her  head,  and  con- 
sider herself  lucky  to  get  any  man  who  sails  his  own 
boat.  Fooling  round  with  painters  is  n't  going  to  help 
her  keep  her  house  straight,  and  mind  her  babies  ;  " 
and  the  young  man  shot  sullen  jealous  glances  at  the 
whole  bright  scene  before  him. 

"And  I  say,"  said  Hoel  practically,  "that  sixty 
francs  a  month  is  n't  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  window 
for  a  whim  ;  and  if  I  had  as  handsome  a  lass  as  Guenn 
Rodellec,  it  would  n't  be  long  before  I  'd  send  her 
marching  straight  to  the  first  man  who  wanted  her  to 


GUENN.  215 

sit  on  a  box  and  be  looked  at  all  day.  There's  no 
harm  in  that,  is  there  ?  An  honest  penny  is  an  honest 
penny,  worth  .having  wherever  you  find  it.  And  mark 
my  words.  If  a  man  is  man  enough  to  sail  his  own 
boat,  it  won't  take  him  long  to  turn  a  girl's  head  back 
to  the  house  and  the  babies."  He  laughed  loud  at  his 
own  wit.     Eodellec  joined  in  pleasantl3\ 

*'Well,  well,"  he  said  with  bluff  good-humor,  "I 
don't  deny  it  would  be  a  help,  and  the  winter  coming 
on  ;  but  my  girl  may  do  as  she  will.  Leave  the  young 
things  free,  —  that's  my  motto, — leave  the  young 
things  free. — Sixty  francs,"  he  thought,  —  "and  she, 
httle  fool  over  there,  tossing  her  head,  and  going  on 
as  if  nothing  was  the  matter !  Laughs  in  their  faces, 
does  she?" 

"Come  down,"  he  said  to  the  others,  with  a  nod 
towards  the  distant  orange-colored  glass  door.  "  I  've 
had  enough  of  this." 

"Well,  I'm  going  over  there  where  Alain  is,  and  the 
other  fellows,'^  Nives  answered  awkwardl3^ 

"To  hang  round  the  girls  and  watch  the  strange 
gars,"  laughed  Hoel.  "  Well,  a  lad  must  be  a  lad  and 
follow  the  coiffes ;  but  we  old  fellows  know  what 's 
better,  eh,  Rodellec?" 

Rodellec  smiled  benevolently  upon  Loic's  ugly  face. 

"  Go  over  there,"  nodding  wisely,  "  you  are  a  match 
for  any  of  them,  Loic.  You  tell  me  what  goes  on." 
Loic  crossed  the  road  to  the  group  of  neglected  swains 
who  stood  disconsolately  in  the  background  of  the 
merry-making,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  door.  The 
girls  conspicuously^  ignored  their  presence,  lavishing  an 
exasperating  degree  of  attention  upon  every  movement 
of  the  painters.  Guenn  leaned  carelessly  against  the 
house,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  — 


216  GUENJSr. 

''Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere ! ' 
she  sang  with  her  happy  voice. 

"  It's  a  ver3^  good  thing  I'm  not  at  school  at  Quim- 
per,"  she  said  suddenly  to  madame  and  Jeanne  with  a 
bright  laugh.  "  It  would  n't  be  half  so  gay  as  this." 
"  Quimper  ! "  exclaimed  Jeanne  —  "You  !  " 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you?  It  was  the  good  Thymert  who 
wished  to  send  me  ;  "  and  Guenn  leaned  still  more  non- 
chalantly against  the  door-post.  Hamor  moved  his 
chair  slightly,  that  he  might  observe  her  at  his  ease, 
while  obviously  occupying  himself  with  his  ragged 
battalion. 

Madame  breathed  a  soft  and  prolonged  "A  —  h — '* 
"  Well,  I  never  !  "  cried  Jeanne,  making  large  eyes. 
"Meme  chose,"  said  Guenn,  "since  I'm  here  —  all 
Qf    me  ! "  —  looking    down    at    herself    complacently. 
"And  it  was  good  of  him,  3^ou  know,"  with  quick  re- 
gret that  she  had  mentioned  hghtly  a  matter  which  the 
priest  had  regarded  with  earnestness. 
"  I  don't  understand,"  began  Jeanne. 
"And  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  you  should," 
Guenn  remarked  grandly.     "It  would  be  very  impu- 
dent of  any  of  us  to  even  try  to  understand  monsieur  le 
•jrecteur  of  the  Lannions." 

Jeanne  was  thus  authoritatively  rebuked. 
Madame  smiled,  but  said  not  a  word.     If  ThjTnert 
had  failed,  she  could  do  nothing  in  this  case.     Yet  it 
was  not  a  bad  idea,  this  Quimper  scheme.     The  main 
thing  was  not  to  seem  to  act. 

Guenn  laughed  and  sang  and  made  audacious  com- 
ments. She  answered  the  judge  somewhat  bluntly  as 
he  went  by  ;  gave  Alain  a  good-humored  smile,  to  show 
him  that  she  cheiished  no  rancune  against  an  old  com- 
rade ;  bestowed  only  a  haughty  stare  and  a  shrug  upon 


GUENN.  217 

poor  Loic ;  lorded  it  over  Jeanne ;  was  gentle  and  as 
civil  as  she  knew  how  to  be  —  which  was  indeed  not 
always  too  civil  —  towards  madame  ;  and  leaned  and 
crossed  her  feet,  and  smoothed  her  kerchief,  and 
tossed  her  head,  and  threw  herself  into  a  dozen  be- 
witching attitudes  in  as  many  minutes.  All  the  time 
she  never  lost  a  word  or  look  of  Hamor's,  not  one 
smile  that  he  gave  Nannie,  not  a  tone  of  his  pleasant 
voice  as  he  commanded  or  bantered  his  grinning  little 
tattered  forces,  not  a  gesture  of  the  fine  long  hands. 

"  There  is  no  harm  as  yet,"  thought  madame  ;  *'  but 
she  has  excited  eyes,  and  she  sees  only  him." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  am  such  a  fool  as  to  feel  sorry 
for  the  little  thing,"  reflected  Staunton,  "  and  I  don't 
know  why  I  've  hoped  all  along  that  he  would  n't  get 
her.     It's  all  right  of  course." 

Hamor  was  possessed  by  a  rapture  of  enthusiasm. 
"  What  shall  I  do  first  with  her?"  he  thought.  "  Every 
moment  of  hers  is  an  inspiration.  She  never  strikes  a 
false  note.     I  feel  that  I  shall  do  some  good  work." 

It  grew  late.  Staunton  got  up  with  an  air  of  ex- 
hausted politeness  and  proposed  a  rubber  of  whist  with 
a  friend  at  the  Grand.  Hamor  ordered  his  riotous  mob 
to  disperse.  The  boys  withdrew  to  the  blackness  of  the 
common  for  a  vociferous  summing  up  of  joys  and  sous, 
preparatory  to  shooting  off  to  their  various  homes,  and 
finishing  their  acrobatic  feats  by  climbing  into  the  upper 
stories  of  the  lits  clos. 

"  Come  round  to-morrow,  Nannie,"  Hamor  said 
carelessl}'. 

Nannie  laid  his  arms  on  the  table,  and  his  head  on 
his  arms,  looked  at  them  all  solemnly,  and  said :  ''I've 
been  there  before  ;  I'm  always  there." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  Hamor  gravely :  "but  let  me 


218  GUENN. 

see  3^ou  to-morrow,  will  j^ou?  I  don't  alwaj^s  see 
you." 

"  I  will,"  answered  the  child. 

' '  Good-night,  madame ;  good-night,  Jeanne  and 
Guenn." 

Madame  and  Jeanne  responded  civilly  to  the  three 
3'oung  men  as  they  turned  to  go.  Guenn  said  not  a 
word  ;  only  looked  at  them  boldly,  smiling,  a  httle  de- 
fiant as  usual.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  quite  amiable 
enough  for  one  da3^  They  need  not  expect  anything 
more  of  her,  any  meek  good-evenings  and  yes-sirs.  She 
would  leave  all  that  to  Jeanne.  So  she  stared  at  them 
with  glowing  ej'es,  and  a  little  mocking  air,  until  they 
were  gone,  —  chatting  and  laughing  pleasantl}'  as  they 
crossed  the  dark  common. 

In  the  rough  room  in  the  corner  of  the  island  chapel 
Th3^mert  sat  alone  ;  his  Virgil  lay  open  before  him,  but  he 
was  not  listening  to  the  silver  voice.  His  candle  flick- 
ered ;  he  turned  mechanically  to  snuff  it,  and  saw  a 
winding-sheet  in  the  flame.  The  waves  fell  with  a  sul- 
len, hollow  sound,  and  on  the  winds  were  cries  of 
warning  ana  pain.  The  3'oung  priest  passed  out  into 
the  night,  and  walked  through  the  sad  little  grave-yard. 
In  the  dark,  his  accustomed  feet  respected  each  poor 
mound,  and  his  heart  gave  its  instinctive  benediction  to 
his  dead  sailors.  There  was  a  sense  of  companionship 
in  feeling  them  near,  for  Tli3^mert  was  lonely  and  op- 
pressed by  vague  fears,  and  even  the  child  Erec  was  not 
there  to-night,  to  sleep  his  healthy  sleep  in  the  long 
passage  that  led  to  the  sacrist}',  and  with  the  rise  and 
fall  of  his  peaceful  breath  to  infuse  an  atmosphere  of 
home  and  warmth  under  those  wind-swept  eaves.  To- 
night the  brown  cheek  was  absent  from  the  coarse  pillow, 
ai  id  Thymert  as  he  passed  had  no  cause  to  shade  his 


GUENN. 


219 


candle  and  walk  softly  with  a  beautiful  tender  smile  on 
his  dark  face.  No,  he  was  alone,  except  for  these 
quiet  sleepers.  The  clouds  hung  low  over  the  Penfret 
phare.  The  Plouvenec  hght  he  could  not  see.  He 
missed  to-night  the  greeting  and  response  which  one 
tower  was  wont  to  flash  across  the  bay  to  the  other 
drawing  the  desolate  islands  nearer  to  the  kindly  land. 
He  turned  towards  the  open  sea.  The  winds  swept 
his  long  black  hair  back  from  his  face.  He  folded  his 
arms  across  his  breast,  and  stood  motionless.  Like  the 
sadness  and  unrest,  the  longing  and  mystery  of  the 
unfathomable  ocean  were  the  mighty  surges  of  his 
unfathomable  young  human  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


ANNIC    RODELLEC,    lean- 
ing upon  a  wet  cart-wheel, 
resting  his  wizened  face  upon 
his  arms,  like  a  caricature 
of  the  smaller  angel  of  the 
Sistine   Madonna,   was   the 
first  object  that  met  Hamor's 
gaze  when,  at  eight  o'clock 
the  next  morning,  in  a  fine 
rain,  he  went  to  his  atelier. 
The  child  nodded  gravely, 
watched  him  with  a  serious  air  as  he  unlocked  the  gate, 
then  followed  him  across  the  court,  up  the  broken  stair- 
way, into  the  studio,  as  if  it  were  all  an  oft-told  tale. 
Hamor  was  himself  in  a  silent  mood,  and  as  soon  as 
Jeanne  came  shyly  in,  a  few  moments  later,  grew  deeply 
absorbed  in  his  work.     Nannie's  infallible  instinct  for 
finding  places  that  would  support  him  comfortably  led 
him  to  a  pile  of  boxes  where  his  heavy  head  rested  on 
his  arms  in  the  usual  way,  and  his  eyes  alone  moved, 
glancing  sharply  from  the  painter  to  the   canvas  and 
the  model.    To  Jeanne's  familiar  merry  looks  he  deigned 
no  response ;  but  as  if  he  were  the  genius  of  the  place, 
brooding  over  its  past  and  future,  he  remained  motion- 
less, enveloped  in  a  vast  thoughtfulness. 


GUENN.  221 

Hamor's  face  looked  sterner  and  older  than  usual. 
He  was  working  fast  and  frowning  steadity.  His  morn- 
ings were  not  as  his  evenings,  and  unless  the  outer 
world  made  strong  demands  upon  his  vitality,  it  was 
usually  inclined  to  be  parsimonious  rather  than  prodigal 
until  after  ten  o'clock  a.  m.  Neither  his  obedient  and 
amiable  httle  model  nor  the  pale  boy  crouched  on  the 
boxes,  whom  indeed  Hamor  had  for  the  moment  quite 
forgotten,  made  any  demands  whatever  upon  him.  So 
the  frown  between  his  eyes,  and  the  pinched  look  round 
his  nose,  and  the  set  mouth  had  their  will ;  the  sunny 
smiles  and  winning,  kindly  expressions  were  stored  awa^^ 
out  of  sight  for  future  use ;  and  all  that  was  resolute 
and  hard  in  the  nature  of  the  man  proclaimed  itself. 

The  little  humpbacked  philosopher  found  much  food 
for  reflection.  What  was  there  about  Jeanne  that  made 
Monsieur  Hamor  scowl?  Why  did  he  scowl  at  his  can- 
vas ?  How  could  a  strong,  well  gars,  who  might  be  sail- 
ing his  boat  or  smoking  his  pipe  on  the  digue,  care  so 
much  about  making  a  picture  of  Jeanne  Ronan,  —  in  her 
ever3-day  clothes,  too,  and  not  even  her  Sunday  coiffe? 
Monsieur  Hamor  was  evidently  very  much  in  earnest 
about  something.  Nannie's  curiosity  was  enjo3^abl3^ 
roused.  However,  he  never  permitted  himself  to  exhibit 
the  slightest  surprise.  In  the  studio  there  was  much 
which  was  new  and  strange  to  him,  but  he  trusted  to 
time  and  his  mother-wit  to  make  everything  clear. 
Meanwhile,  he  felt  uncommonly  comfortable.  Nobody 
was  hooting  at  him  or  slapping  him,  the  boxes  fitted  his 
person  to  perfection,  and  he  found  the  smiling  Monsieur 
Hamor  in  his  scowls  an  interesting  if  incomprehensible 
study. 

After  an  hour,  Hamor  rose  abruptly,  knocking  over 
his  camp-stool,  —  went  to  the  chunney  upon  which  the 


222  GUENN. 

fire  spirit  was  now  airily  soaring,  and  from  the  cigarettes 
and  matches  lying  loosely  upon  the  mantelpiece  helped 
himself,  all  the  time  eying  his  work  discontentedly. 
"  The  whole  thing  needs  potatoing  and  oihng  out,"  he 
muttered.  Suddenly  he  saw  Nannie  leaning  forward 
like  a  grinning  gargoyle.  "  Oh !  "  he  said,  surprised. 
Then  he  smiled  with  amusement.  "Nannie,  are  you 
comfortable  ?  Are  you  all  right?  Does  it  amuse  you 
up  here?  It's  rather  dull,  isn't  it?  You  look  as  if 
you  gi'ew  on  these  boxes." 

"  I  am  thinking,"  answered  the  child  sententiously. 
"  Well,  think  then  ;  and  if  there  's  anything  you  want, 
tell  me,"  Hamor  said  abruptly,  but  kindly.     "Come, 
Jeanne.     Again,  posez  !  " 

"  She 's  coming,"  announced  the  motionless  boy  after 
a  pause. 

"Who?  Guenn?"  asked  Hamor,  turning  eagerly. 
Nannie,  without  changing  his  attitude,  lifted  a  long  bony 
hand  and  pointed  with  one  wise  finger  towards  the  court. 
Hamor  glanced  down  involuntarily,  saw  nothing  but 
wagons  in  a  fine  rain,  the  familiar  fence,  lane,  and  build- 
ings. He  looked  curiously  at  Nannie,  then  resumed 
work.  Nannie  responded  only  by  his  inscrutable  Gothic 
grin. 

The  magnets  in  the  granary  had  drawn  Guenn  as  far 
as  the  great  arch  of  the  entrance  to  the  courtyard.  The 
rain  was  falling  in  a  dreary,  hopeless  way  on  the  irregu- 
lar stones  of  the  pavement ;  on  the  still  graj^ish  house 
with  faded  green  bUnds  and  lilac  bushes  before  the  front 
windows  ;  on  the  yellow  and  red  omnibus  with  its  weary 
wheels  drawn  up  beneath  it ;  on  the  long  low  roof  of  the 
wheelwright's  shop,  dimming  the  gold  of  the  lichens.  A 
cat  came  slowly  down  the  stairway.  Its  feet  sounded 
curiously  heav}^  and  regular.     It  stopped  two  or  three 


GUENN.  223 

stairs  above  Guenn's  head,  and  regarded  her  solemnly. 
She  called  it  gentl}^,  and  wished  it  would  come  near 
enough  for  her  to  stroke  it.  But  it  turned  away,  carrj^- 
ing  its  tail  like  a  flagstaff,  and  went  up  the  stairwaj 
with  the  same  soft,  unsympathetic  precision.  When  she. 
peered  out  into  the  rain  she  could  see  the  three  dormer 
windows  of  the  granary,  with  the  dusty  broken  panes ; 
but  she  could  see  nothing  of  her  Nannie,  or  of  Jeanne 
or  Monsieur  Hamor,  and  she  was  careful  to  keep  well 
out  of  sight.  It  was  not  far  to  Morot's  usine.  In  a  loft 
near  by,  some  girls  whom  she  knew  were  mending  nets. 
They  were  quiet  girls,  invalids  more  or  less,  —  called 
good  because  not  strong  enough  to  be  wild  or  noisy. 
Guenn,  with  a  bombshell  effect,  burst  in  among  them. 
The  conversation,  which  had  been  brisk  enough  before, 
began  to  drag  perceptibly.  Guenn  with  gathering  dis- 
content watched  the  four  pale  girls  sitting  in  low  chairs 
before  the  blue  nets  drawn  out  in  long,  narrow  shapes 
like  shrouds.  Balls  of  twine  lay  on  the  floor,  and  soft 
piles  of  netting ;  the  light  from  the  windows  behind 
streamed  upon  their  bowed  shoulders  in  sober  kerchiefs, 
and  their  white  coiffes.  Guenn  was  out  of  place  here, 
and  she  knew  it.  She  had  never  heard  of  what  3'oung 
ladies  call  a  sympathetic  atmosphere,  and  did  not  know 
how  to  discourse  about  attraction  and  repulsion ;  but 
these  staid,  diligent  girls  made  her  feel  cross  and  un- 
comfortable. They  seemed  as  old  as  old  women,  and 
as  far  away  from  her.  Certainly  the}"  were  not  over- 
joyed at  the  appearance  of  this  bright  j'oung  thing  in 
their  midst.  She  had  interrupted  their  piquant  recitals, 
in  which,  indeed,  she  herself  had  figured  largely ;  and 
then  she  was  so  brilliantlj^  audaciousl}' well.  "Why, 
they  are  as  stupid  as  the  cat,"  she  thought,  feeling 
again  the  slight  sense  of  disappointment  which  had  fol- 


224  GUENN. 

lowed  puss3^'s  orderly  retreat.  "It  would  be  like  this 
with  the  nuns  at  Quimper,  I  suppose."  She  tried 
to  talk  a  little,  but  the  conversation  languished  and 
died. 

"Well,  there's  no  fun  in  you,  I  must  say,"  she 
remarked  not  ill-naturedly.     "I'm  off!" 

The  oldest  girl  raised  her  head.  She  was  a  sickly, 
anpleasant-looking  young  woman,  whose  self-righteous- 
ness  consoled  her  for  many  evils  :  "  We  are  not  always 
expecting  fun,"  she  said  reprovingly  ;  "  we  always  have 
our  duty." 

Guenn  turned  on  the  threshold  with  a  bright  little 
laugh.  "All  right,"  she  answered,  shrugging  her 
pretty  shoulders  ;  "  you  may  have  the  duty  :  I  'd  rather 
have  the  fun.     Adieu." 

But,  nevertheless,  when  she  was  out  on  the  road 
again  her  face  fell ;  and,  indeed,  she  did  not  seem  to 
be  finding  much  fun  this  morning.  Madame  had  al- 
ready tried  to  keep  her  busy  in  the  Yoyageurs'  kitchen, 
but  the  girl  had  grown  impatient  of  chopping  and  pound- 
ing and  grinding,  and,  seizing  her  opportunity,  escaped. 
Her  thoughts  fixed  themselves  tenaciously  upon  the 
studio.  What  could  Nannie  be  doing  up  there?  He 
must  like  it  or  he  wouldn't  stay.  If  she  could  steal 
softly  up  the  stairway  and  look  in  without  being  seen ! 
It  was  strange  to  think  of  Nannie  with  a  stranger. 
Jeanne  was  there  as  a  matter  of  course.  Monsieur 
Hamor  was  smiUng  and  smihng,  and  painting  with  his 
long  white  fingers. 

Poor  little  Guenn,  standing  again  under  the  stone 
arch,  felt  strangely  homesick  and  out  in  the  cold. 
Yet  nothing  prevented  her  from  opening  the  high  gate 
and  walking  through  the  court  and  up  the  stairs  and 
straight  into  the  old  granary,  except  —  except   what? 


GUENN.  225 

Indeed  she  did  not  know.  She  was  not  addicted  to 
introspection.  It  never  occurred  to  her  to  analyze 
these  emotions  that  were  making  her  uncomfortable 
and  forlorn.  She  missed  Nannie,  —  not  that  he  was 
always  with  her,  but  at  least  she  could  always  reach 
him  when  she  chose  to  go  to  him.  And  now  he  was 
'beyond  her  reach,  unless  she  sacrificed  all  her  tradi- 
tions, her  obstinately  enunciated  opinions,  her  defiant 
pride,  or,  as  she  would  have  said,  unless  she  ate  her 
words.  Last  night,  when,  as  often  happened,  they  told 
her  late  she  would  have  to  go  down  to  the  dram-shop 
for  her  father,  and  she  had  stolidly  marched  into  the 
very  midst  of  the  orange  light,  and  taken  him  by  the 
arm  among  the  men,  —  as  other  girls  did  commonly 
enough  to  their  fathers, — and  led  his  stumbling  steps 
the  long  way  home,  mechanically,  with  neither  sorrow, 
disgust,  nor  fear,  the  only  intelligible  word  she  heard 
from  him  was  a  constant  refrain  of  "  sixty  francs  —  sixty 
francs."  This  morning  early  she  had  heard  the  inter- 
pretation of  his  babbling,  and  had  been  peremptorily 
ordered  to  present  herself  without  more  ado  at  Haraor's 
atelier,  to  engage  herself  as  model  for  not  less  than 
sixty  francs  a  month  —  and,  if  she  was  n't  a  fool,  she  'd 
get  seventy,  Rodellec  added.  Parental  authority  was 
strong  in  Plouvenec.  A  man  might  be  a  drunkard  and 
a  knave,  but  his  command  to  his  child  was  as  binding 
as  that  of  a  God-fearing,  silver-hau-ed  patriarch  among 
the  dweUers  in  tents. 

Guenn  had  turned  pale  as  he  spoke.  She  had  not  in 
her  remembrance  approached  him  with  any  petition. 
Now  she  begged  as  another  gu-1  might  beg  another 
father.  "  Father,"  she  said,  —  and  it  was  the  word  she 
never  used,  —  "  don't  make  me  do  it." 

"Fool!"  returned  Rodellec  unrelentingly.  Nannie 
15 


226  GUENN. 

was  curled  up  on  the  bench,  his  wise,  heavy  head  lean- 
ing on  the  oaken  table. 

"I  never  asked  yoxx  am'thing  before,"  she  went  on 
in  a  fierce,  shy  wa}' :  "I'll  never  ask  you  an3^thing 
again,  surely:  I  only  ask  3^ou  this, — don't  make  me 
doit;  don't  send  me  to  him  —  to  this  one.  I'll  go 
anj^where  else ;  I  '11  pose  for  any  of  them,"  she  cried 
desperately;  "  onl}'  not  to  him.  There's  a  French- 
man at  the  Grand  ;  he  '11  pa}^  quite  as  much.  Father  !  " 
The  girl's  voice  was  a  prayer  in  the  one  unwonted  word. 

"  You'll  go  to  Hamor  and  to  nobod}-  else,"  said  Ro- 
deUec  doggedl3\ 

"  Nannie  !  "  turning  m  strange  appeal  to  the  child. 

"  You  will  have  to  do  it,  Guenn  ;  I  see  it  coming  — 
coihing,"  he  replied,  impassive  as  fate  itself.  "  It  must 
be." 

"I'll  give  you  three  daj^s,"  growled  Rodellec.  "If 
you  're  not  there  by  that  time,  I  '11  take  you  there  my- 
self." 

The  girl's  hot  spirit  rose.  "  And  if  I  won't !  "  She 
turned  her  defiant  eyes  boldly  upon  him  with  a  scowl. 

His  answer  was  a  blow.  Guenn  fell  in  a  heap  on  the 
earthen  floor.  There  was  a  curious  snarl,  but  no  word 
or  motion,  from  the  figure  leaning  on  the  table.  Ro- 
dellec with  an  oath  left  the  house.  Guenn  picked  her- 
self up,  feeling  a  little  dizzy,  and  bathed  a  bruise  under 
her  left  temple. 

"  I  'm  going,"  said  Nannie.  "  You  '11  come  later  — 
later."  Presently  he  sidled  into  the  house  again. 
"  Here,"  he  said,  holding  out  a  couple  of  dried  leaves  ; 
"  they  are  from  the  Druid-stone.  Put  them  on  and  it 
won't  ache  :  I  whispered  to  them." 

She  smiled  gratefully.  She  was  pleased  that  he 
cared  :  it  was  so  seldom  that  Nannie  seemed  to  care. 


GUENN.  227 

"  Later,"  he  said  significantly,  and  went  out. 

Left  alone,  Guenn  put  the  house  in  order,  according 
to  her  conception  of  the  word.  There  was  little  to  be 
done,  and  that  she  did  quickly.  Then  she  went  down 
to  the  village  and  wandered  about  aimlessly,  with  a 
curious  oppression  in  her  heart,  and  always  the  sense 
of  being  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  the  place  where  her 
Nannie  had  gone  to  be  with  the  smiling  stranger.  It 
was  surely  Nannie  whom  she  wished  to  see,  yet  Hamor's 
face  as  it  had  looked  last  night,  his  high  head  with  the 
light  on  it,  his  hand  holding  a  cigarette,  his  smiles  to  the 
boys,  his  low,  pleasant  words  which  she  could  not  un- 
derstand, although  she  had  listened  so  eagerly  when  he 
spoke  to  his  friends,  —  all  this  was  before  her,  a  vivid 
and  powerful  vision,  haunting  her  wherever  she  turned 
this  dreary  morning,  drawing  her  towards  itself.  ' '  How 
can  you  be  angry,  Guenn?"  The  girl  trembled,  re- 
membering his  voice.  She  had  run  about  ever}' where 
trying  to  forget  it ;  but  she  heard  it  in  madame's 
kitchen,  and  with  the  still  menders  of  nets.  Wher- 
ever she  went  the  unrest  in  her  heart  grew  greater, 
until  for  the  third  time  that  morning  she  found  herself 
under  the  arch  between  the  stables  and  house,  looking 
listlessly  at  the  wet  omnibus,  the  wet  lilac  bushes,  the 
wet  roof :  sometimes  peering  out  and  giving  a  stealthy 
glance  up  to  the  granary  windows. 

Nannie  expected  her :  she  knew  that.  Nannie  had 
said,  "You'll  have  to  come."  What  if  she  should  go 
up,  —  not  to  pose,  of  course,  —  only  to  look  about 
once  ? 

With  this  thought,  all  her  blood  seemed  to  course 
furiously  through  her  veins,  and  all  her  savage  opposi- 
tion to  Hamor  rose  up  for  one  last  effort.  Did  he  smile 
last  night?    Well,  had  he  not  always  smiled?    From 


228  GUENN. 

that  first  evening  on  the  beach,  when  she  hated  him  for 
being  a  strange  man  and  looking  at  her,  had  not  his 
smile  been  in  her  thoughts  by  day,  in  her  dreams  by 
night?  And  she  hated  him  still.  Yes,  she  bated  him. 
Because  he  made  his  voice  sound  like  an  angel's  and 
said  "  Guenn  !  "  until  her  heart  beat  fast,  and  she  trem- 
bled like  a  leaf,  was  that  any  reason  for  not  hating  him  ? 
No.  For  that,  she  must  hate  him  all  the  more.  She 
remembered  how  she  had  refused  him  flatl}'  in  his  face, 
how  she  had  laughed  and  mocked  with  the  women  by 
the  river,  how  all  Plouvenec  knew  that  Guenn  Rodellec 
would  not  pose,  though  all  the  strangers  on  earth  wanted 
her.  Should  she  swallow  her  pride,  and  go  in  like  an- 
other girl  ?  Never  ?  And  her  father  ?  Her  face  grew 
sullen  and  heavj'.  The  bruise  on  her  cheek  burned, 
and  only  strengthened  her  obstinacy.  ''Thymert  will 
help  me,"  she  reflected.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
faithful  friend  had  entered  her  troubled  thoughts  that 
morning.  Guenn  had  a  deep,  if  stolid  instinct  of  obe- 
dience to  her  father,  and  a  noble  reserve  that  sought 
habituall}^  to  conceal  from  the  world  his  brutality  to- 
wards herself.  But  even  this  was  over-mastered  by  the 
resurrection  of  her  farouche  and  superstitious  dread  of 
yielding  to  Hamor's  influence.  She  would  go  to  Thy- 
mert.  Thymert  would  understand.  Thj^mert  would 
take  care  of  her.  She  had  promised  indeed  to  go  to 
him  if  ever  she  was  in  trouble.  Never  before  had  she 
felt  the  need  of  protection.  With  the  new  sensation 
came  a  kindly  grateful  sentiment  towards  the  priest, 
who  she  knew  would  stand  with  her,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
and  resist  these  strangers,  their  smiles,  their  sweet  tones, 
their  foreign  ways  which  she  hated  because  she  could 
not  forget.  As  for  her  father,  he  always  listened  to  the 
good  cure.     And  if  she  got  an  extra  blow  afterwards  for 


GUENN.  229 

interfering  with  the  scheme,  what  would  it  matter? 
What  was  a  bruise  more  or  less,  if  only  she,  Guenn 
Rodellec,  could  keep  her  freedom,  not  go  over  to  the 
foreigners,  not  yield  to  the  strange  feeling  that  was 
always  drawing  her, —drawing  her  against  her  will, 
like  the  quicksands  on  the  lower  coast. 

She  straightened  herself,  tossed  her  head,  and  turned 
to  go,  singing  gayly  her  httle  song  about  the  bitterness 
of  life.  For  the  moment,  she  felt  like  th^  old  Guenn, 
careless,  merry,  buoyant.  The  good  Thymert  would 
make  things  right.  Perhaps  somebody  was  going  out. 
She  would  look  along  the  quay.  The  sailors  were  all 
kind  to  her.  Somebody  would  surely  take  her  over  to 
the  Lannions. 

Did  the  cackling  of  geese  save  Rome?  But  who  may 
estimate  the  loss  and  disaster  and  ruin  caused  by  the 
caclding  of  geese  ever  since?  At  the  moment  when 
Guenn,  bold  and  joyous  of  mien,  was  passing  out  of 
the  archway,  the  tired  httle  woman  who  from  her  win- 
dow had  seen  the  young  girl  coming  and  going  three 
times,  was  moved  to  descend.  "  What  do  you  want?  " 
demanded  the  mistress  of  the  premises  not  unkindly, 
yet  with  that  glance  of  vague  disapproval  which  a  faded 
woman  is  apt  to  unconsciously  bestow  upon  a  beautiful, 
fresh,  young  girl. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Guenn,  turning  and  facing  her, 
ready  for  peace  or  ready  for  war  —  with  perhaps  a  lean- 
ing towards  the  latter. 

"  Are  you  waiting  for  anybody?  "  demanded  the  little 
woman  languidly. 

"  No,"  replied  Guenn,  with  an  aggressive  look. 

■'  Are  you  a  model?"  and  her  pale  eyes  studied,  with 
a  kind  of  weary  curiosity,  the  bold  and  brilhant  young 
face. 


230  GUENN. 

This  catechism  irritated  Guenn.  "  No,"  she  said 
fiercely. 

"  Do  3'ou  want  to  be  a  model?  "  persisted  the  other. 

Guenu  laughed  scornfully. 

"  Because,"  continued  the  tired  little  woman  with  mild 
fatuit}',  '^  I  know  Monsieur  Hamor  very  well.  He  is 
very  amiable,  this  Monsieur  Hamor.  He  stands  here 
and  chats  with  me  often."  She  looked  affectionately 
about  the  ardiway  and  gave  a  small  sigh  of  pleasing 
reminiscence.  Guenn  flushed  warmly,  and  began  to 
move  about.  She  had  a  violent  desire  to  push  or  shake 
this  exasperating  person.  She  wanted  her  to  stop  talk- 
ing.    She  longed  to  hear  more. 

"  He  has  such  a  beautiful,  amiable  smile,  this  Mon- 
sieur Hamor,"  —  ah,  how  well  Guenn  knew  that !  —  "it 
warms  the  heart  to  see  it,  and  a  kind  voice  one  must 
sa}",  and  a  happ}^  bright  face,  when  everj'thing  else  is 
dull."  She  glanced  at  the  familiar  things  about  her, 
dull  enough  to-day  in  the  drizzling  rain,  —  "  and  if  you 
want  to  be  a  model,  —  not  that  he  has  painted  3^our  kind 
yet,"  she  said  jealousl}^  "I  don't  know  as  he  likes 
your  kind,"  —  she  looked  discontentedly  at  the  superb 
color  in  Guenn's  face.  "I  would  n't  mind  taking  you 
up  there.  I  haven't  much  to  do  this  morning."  She 
began  to  smooth  her  hair  with  her  hands  in  anticipation. 

"  I  must  see  Monsieur  Hamor  any  wa}^,"  the  small 
garrulous  voice  went  on :  "  I  am  going  over  to  Quimper 
to-morrow.  There 's  something  he  wants  me  to  bring 
him  from  Quimper,"  —  with  importance.  "  If  I  should 
take  3'ou  up,  he  would  paint  3'ou.  He  paints  ever3'body 
and  everything,  you  know,  and  if  you  are  afraid  to  go 
up  alone,  3^ou  need  n't  be  afraid  with  me." 

What  perverse  spirit  suddenl3'  possessed  this  harmless 
and  insipid  little  person  that  she  managed  to  combine  in 


GUENN,  231 

her  weak  discourse  all  that  was  needful  to  destroy  Guenn's 
rational  plans,  to  turn  her  from  her  safe  chosen  path, 
to  set  the  hot  heart  beating  fast  again,  to  re-establish 
the  power  of  the  old  witchery,  beckoning  her  on  against 
her  will  ?  Guenn  herself  never  knew  why  the  wander- 
ing eyes,  drawling  voice,  and  complacent  allusions  to 
Hamor,  nearly  maddened  her  and  started  her  off  as  if 
pursued  by  furies. 

She  interrupted  the  siily  prattle  with  an  imperious 
gesture,  and  one  consuming  look  of  utter  scorn,  then 
sprang  past  the  foolish  speaker  into  the  lane,  flung  open 
the  gate,  and  crossed  the  court  with  her  long  swift  step. 
No  dowager  duchess  with  a  train  could  be  so  majestic  as 
this  angry  Breton  girl,  in  her  short  patched  skirts  and 
clattering  sabots,  which,  urged  on  by  her  ardent  spirit, 
flew  over  the  ground,  as  if  they  had  wings.  Up  the 
broken  stairway  ran  the  light  unhesitating  feet.  With- 
out knocking,  —  Guenn  knew  how  to  knock,  but  the 
trifling  ceremony  was  with  her  voluntary  not  obliga- 
tory, —  she  opened  Hamor's  door,  and,  sudden  as  a  gust 
of  wind,  made  her  violent  entrance  into  the  old  garret. 

The  gargojde  never  moved.  Jeanne's  face  expressed 
an  innocent  "  Oh  "  of  surprise.  The  vein  in  the  middle 
of  Hamor's  forehead  grew  prominent.  He  did  not  turn 
his  head.  His  hand  worked  mechanically  on.  He 
knew  well  who  had  come.  Only  old  Boreas  or  Guenn 
Rodellec  would  dare  sweep  into  a  man's  castle  in  this 
high  and  might}^  way.  It  was  evidentl}^  not  Boreas, 
unless  he  had  taken  to  wearing  sabots,  and  to  breathing 
very  audibly  with  quick  short  breaths  like  a  young  girl 
under  strong  excitement. 

' '  Would  you  mind  shutting  the  door,  Guenn  ? "  he 
said  pleasantly 

She  did  not  move.     He  turned  and  looked  over  his 


232  GUENN, 

shoulder  at  her,  kind,  expectant,  but  not  smiling.  He 
did  not  at  this  crisis  dare  to  risk  the  famiharity  of  a 
smile.  Guenn  was  poised  as  lightly  as  any  creature 
that  flies  :  she  was,  in  fact,  leaning  slightl}^  towards  the 
open  door.  Her  arms  hung  straight  down  in  front  of 
her  J  her  whole  figure  expressed  tremulous  lightness, 
only  her  hands  were  clinched  nervously.  She  looked 
as  if  she  might  the  next  instant  bound  out  into  freedom 
as  swiftly  as  she  had  darted  into  captivity.  Hamor 
knew  that  if  he  lost  her  now,  it  would  be  forever. 

"  Shut  it,  please,"  he  said  again  in  a  perfectlj^  matter- 
of-fact  tone  as  their  e3^es  met;  "it  makes  too  much 
draught :  the  broken  windows  are  bad  enough." 

Guenn's  eyelids  drooped  before  his  stead}^  gaze  ;  her 
nervous  little  fingers  relaxed  ;  her  spirit  yielded.  She 
turned,  walked  slowl}^  towards  the  door,  and  with  her 
own  hand  shut  herself  in  —  shut  her  old  life  forever 
out. 

The  garg03"le  never  moved ;  Jeanne  looked  inno- 
cently pleased  ;  while  Hamor,  his  back  turned,  breathed 
one  long  breath  of  relief  and  triumph. 

Guenn  stood  irresolute  b}"  the  closed  door. 

"  Come  and  see  me  paint  Jeanne,"  said  the  low,  gen- 
tle voice,  and  Hamor  motioned  to  a  camp-stool  near 
him. 

Guenn  stalked  across  the  room  mechanically  and 
seated  herself. 

"  It  will  not  disturb  me  if  you  and  Jeanne  talk,"  Ha- 
mor said  aflEably:  "if  it  should,  I  will  tell  you.  You 
see  I  am  not  painting  her  face  just  now."  At  the  mo- 
ment he  was  expending  considerable  technical  skill  on 
her  coarse  blue  apron.  He  concentrated  himself  upon 
his  work. 

Guenn,  still  breathing  quickly,  her  eyes  looking  very 


GUENN.  233 

large  and  excited,  watched  the  strokes  of  his  brush  and 
palette-knife  with  at  first  about  as  much  appreciation 
as  any  other  untamed  thing  of  the  woods  might  feel 
before  a  work  of  art.  But  Hamor's  earnest  manner, 
the  two  famiUar  faces,  the  absence  of  any  surprise  at 
her  presence  and  of  any  attempt  to  dictate  to  her,  had  a 
soothing  effect.  She  began  to  look  around  curiously ; 
then  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  ateUer,  regarding 
everything  with  her  bold  gaze ;  asking  no  questions, 
not  even  in  Breton,  of  Jeanne.  None  of  the  models, 
whatever  their  manners  in  other  respects  left  to  be 
desired,  were  addicted  to  asking  personal  questions. 
Nil  admirari  seemed  to  be  their  one  instinctive  guiding 
principle  :  they  declined  to  yield  to  surprise  or  admira- 
tion when  brought  face  to  face  with  the  strangest  things, 
and  they  listened  to  tales  of  other  lands  with  a  conde- 
scension which  Hamor  found  delicious. 

Bottles,  cigarette-papers,  pipes,  tobacco-pouches, 
bowls  and  jugs,  camp-stools  and  easels  ;  Breton  em- 
broidery flung  over  a  beam,  pieces  of  rich-colored  cash- 
mere ;  boxes  piled  up,  making  a  table  resembling  an 
altar,  a  dark-red  cover  concealing  its  humble  extrac- 
tion ;  a  few  choice  books  ;  an  ancient  long-necked  vase, 
relic  of  seigneurial  da3's,  with  "Dime"  in  blue  letters 
on  its  cracked  side ;  Hamor's  favorite  seat,  a  treasure 
cut  out  of  a  huge  oak  trunk,  the  base  spreading  by 
the  fire  and  twisting  like  serpents,  all  black  and  polished 
by  time ;  French  yellow-covered  novels,  tossed  in  dis- 
gust under  the  eaves  and  left  to  lie  where  the}"  fell,  — • 
m  short,  all  the  picturesque  confusion  of  Monsieur  Ha- 
mor's entourage,  Guenn  submitted  to  thorough  inspec- 
tion. Moreover  she  made  free  use  of  whichever  sense 
the  need  of  the  moment  seemed  to  indicate  :  lifting  the 
Dime  vase  and  smelling  of  it,  feeling  of  the  cretonne 


234  GUENN. 

draperies  that  hung  on  either  side  of  the  chimne3\  She 
stood  long  before  the  fire-spirit,  —  a  ver3'  eccentric  flight 
of  Hamor's  fancy.  It  evidently  caused  her  profound 
thought.  He  smiled  as  he  furtively  watched  the  earnest 
uplifted  eyes  fixed  upon  so  palpable  a  caprice.  Guenn 
was,  in  fact,  pitying  the  ignorance  of  foreigners  and 
heathen  who  could  worship  this  unknown  deity. 

There  was  a  little  fire  on  the  hearth.  An  ember  fell. 
The  young  girl  knelt,  seized  the  tongs,  arranged  the 
wood  neatly,  and  looked  for  a  brush. 

"It's  over  there,"  said  Jeanne  in  Breton,  pointing 
to  a  distant  corner. 

"  Nice  place  for  it  !  "  grumbled  Guenn,  running 
quickly  to  bring  it.  She  did  not  try  to  go  softly  ;  her 
sabots  clattered  noisily  over  the  rough  floor.  Nothing 
seemed  to  divert  Monsieur  Hamor's  attention  from  his 
work,  but  when  she  had  swept  the  hearth  and  deposited 
the  brush  somewhat  emphatically  in  what  she  consid- 
ered its  legitimate  place,  he  said  very  quietly,  — 

"Thanks,  Guenn." 

She  smiled  at  him  frankly.  She  found  the  atelier  very 
agreeable  In  the  first  place,  it  was  large,  —  large 
enough  to  run  races  in,  and  she  liked  that.  Then,  it 
was  obviously  a  place  where  you  could  do  as  you 
pleased.  She  went  to  the  window  and  drummed  cheer- 
fully on  a  pane,  then  laughed  her  pretty,  gay  laugh, 
remembering  the  woman's  amazed  face  left  behind  in 
the  archway. 

"  You  see,  Jeanne,"  she  began  abruptly,  "  that  little 
drawling  fool  down  there  wanted  to  bring  me  up.  I 
just  thought  I'd  bring  myself."  She  laughed  again, 
took  out  her  knitting,  sat  on  the  broken  stone  window- 
seat,  and  chatted  in  the  most  unembarrassed  manner 
in    the    world.     Why    should    she   not?     There   were 


GUENN.  235 

Jeanne  and  Nannie ;  and  no  one  was  annoying  her  in 
the  shghtest  degree.     She  felt  as  free  as  air. 

Monsieur  Hamor  did  not  intimate  that  he  had  am^ 
interest  in  the  Breton  conversation  which  his  three 
guests  now  pursued  with  animation.  He  found  Guenn 
bewitching, — her  laughter,  her  freedom,  her  vivacit3\ 
As  to  manners,  he  asked  himself  seriously  whether  her 
untutored  mode  of  investigation  was  not,  upon  the 
whole,  more  agreeable  than  the  efforts  young  lady  visit- 
ors usually  made  to  please  him,  and  to  say  something 
clever:  using  stereot^^ped  art-phrases  which  they  did 
not  understand,  and  affecting  a  superhuman  knowledge 
of  technique. 

Guenn  did  not  stay  long  on  the  window-seat.  She 
never  stayed  very  long  anywhere.  Knitting,  making 
abrupt  remarks  which  convulsed  Jeanne  with  merriment 
and  produced  deeper  lines  on  the  gargoyle's  sculptured 
face,  she  stood  looking  over  Hamor's  shoulder  at  his 
painting.  Ignorant  as  she  was,  she  was  too  intelligent 
not  to  begin  presently  to  feel  a  nascent  perception  of 
the  magic  of  a  stroke.  She  saw  wonderingly  how 
quickly  something  vanished  that  was  there  before,  how 
something  new  appeared,  how  it  grew  in  strength  and 
beauty  under  his  touch.  She  felt  as  a  child  may  feel, 
without  comprehending,  the  earnestness  of  the  worker. 
It  was  something  real  to  him,  then,  this.picture-making. 
She  watched  him  with  eyes  both  shy  and  bold. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  said  Hamor,  throw- 
ing back  his  head  and  looking  at  her.  "Is  it  like 
Jeanne  ?  " 

"  Jeanne  is  never  sad,"  she  answered  without  hesita- 
tion. The  picture  was  one  of  the  innumerable  peasant- 
studies  which  find  their  way  to  Paris,  to  sell  well  and 
adorn  the  walls  of  luxurious  houses,  where  peasants  are 


236  GUENN. 

myths.  Jeanne  was  sitting  on  some  boxes  knitting, 
her  hazel  e3'es  looking  at  3'ou  over  her  work.  The 
warm,  transparent  brown  of  the  sloping  roof  made  an 
effective  background  for  her  serious  and  simple  figure. 

"  Sad?"  Hamor  looked  curiously  at  his  new  critic. 

"Jeanne's  face  is  so,"  said  Guenn  in  her  rapid  im- 
pulsive way, — making  her  hands  broadly  concave, — 
"not  so," — straightening  them. 

"Ah,  that  is  what  you  mean.  It's  not  the  face, 
G-uenn.  It 's  the  mouth.  Jeanne's  mouth  is  not  easy 
to  paint." 

Guenn  nodded  soberly  as  if  that  were  a  point  she 
could  easily  comprehend,  and  watched  him  introduce 
a  suggestion  of  levity  into  the  corners  of  the  unsatis- 
factor}^  feature.  ' '  This  kind  of  mouth,"  reflected  Hamor, 
tipping  up  the  right  corner,  "is  awkward,  because  it 
expresses  so  little.  The  young  unformed,  untried 
mouth,  with  the  innocence  of  childhood  lingering  in  it, 
and  " — tipping  up  the  left  corner  —  "the  vague  tendency 
to  coarseness  hovering  over  it,  and  all  its  lines  un- 
settled, with  no  composure  and  no  self-control,  —  and 
the  possibility  of  its  going  to  the  good  or  the  bad  about 
equal,  —  well,  it 's  what  I  call  the  very  deuce  of  a  mouth." 

"There,  is  that  better?" 

"It's  better,"  Guenn  answered,  turning  away  in- 
differently, "but  it's  ugly." 

"It  is  ugly,"  Hamor  said,  laughing  and  looking  at 
her  with  admiration,  this  time  not  of  her  beauty.  It 
was  not  every  brother  artist  who  would  give  him  an 
unbiassed  opinion,  still  less  every  casual  visitor.  Hon- 
esty was  a  rare  guest,  whom  he  knew  how  to  prize. 
He  tried  a  small  experiment.  He  delighted  in  experi- 
ments. "  Will  you  go  over  and  turn  all  those  pictures 
face  out,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  them?" 


GUENN.  237 

She  walked  straight  across  to  the  other  side  of  the 
garret,  where  six  or  eight  pictures  in  various  stages  of 
completion  stood  face  to  the  wall.  In  a  moment  the 
whole  row  was  on  exhibition ;  and  Guenn  standing  at 
a  little  distance,  head  erect,  hands  busily  knitting, 
expressed  her  incisive  opinions  as  special  art-critic, 
with  the  self-confidence  which  she  would  have  displayed, 
had  the  subjects  under  discussion  been  fish. 

' '  Well,  —  why  not  ?  "  reflected  Hamor.  ' '  Who  waits 
for  special  training  before  he  criticises  anything  and 
everything,  in  the  heavens  above,  the  earth  beneath, 
and  the  waters  under  the  earth?  What  do  I  know 
about  music,  for  instance,  and  when  have  I  refrained  — 
given  the  shadow  of  an  opportunity  —  from  a  voluble 
exposition  of  my  utterly  worthless  views  about  Wagner? 
The  girl  is  delicious.  Thank  heaven,  she  doesn't  look 
like  an  owl,  and  try  to  think  of  something  impressive 
to  say,  as  most  of  them  do."  '^  Them,"  in  this  ungal- 
lant  comparison,  referring  to  the  many  fair  ladies  who 
had  delighted  to  honor  Mr.  Hamor  with  their  presence 
in  his  studio,  their  sympathy  and  approval. 

Guenn's  eyes  were  keen,  her  tongue  was  honest,  her 
spirit  unintimidated.  "  If  all  art-critics  were  endowed, 
b}^  a  merciful  providence,  with  these  excellent  gifts  !  " 
groaned  the  3^oung  painter.  She  did  not  hesitate  an 
instant,  but  flung  at  each  canvas  in  turn  her  rapid 
judgment,  based  upon  an  original,  but  by  no  means  a 
valueless,  system.  Some  of  Douglas's  and  Staunton's 
sketches  were  among  the  number. 

"Well,  there's  an  uncomfortable  lot,"  exclaimed 
Guenn,  "  crowded  together,  no  room  to  breathe,  and 
the  walls  going  to  fall  on  their  heads." 

"A  palpable  hit  for  Douglas,"  was  Hamor's  mental 
comment.     "  I  told  you  so,  my  dear  fellow,  but  you 


238  GUENN. 

wouldn't  believe  me."  He  watched  her  with  infinite 
delight. 

''  Michel  had  better  hurry  !  Oh,  he  must  reef  fast !  " 
she  called  excitedly.  "Is  it  Jacques  at  the  tiller? 
Yes,  it 's  Jacques.  It 's  a  pity  they  have  nobody  else  to 
help.  Where 's  the  mousse  ?  Ah,  it 's  an  ugly  squall, 
and  going  to  strike  hard  !  " 

The  picture  was  in  Staunton's  most  vigorous  st3'le. 
Hamor  got  up  and  walked  over  to  her.  "I  actually 
believe  she  has  art  feeling,"  he  thought,  looking  at  her 
closely  with  an  expression  of  positive  respect  on  his 
face. 

Sketches  by  Hamor  of  people  she  knew  seemed  not 
to  impress  her  especially.  She  passed  them  b}',  with 
indifferent  comments.  "  Right  again.  They  don't 
amount  to  much,"  his  conscience  admitted.  Then 
came  a  large  picture  nearl}^  completed,  a  happy  combi- 
nation of  the  oft-recurring  Jeanne  and  Victoria,  this 
time  on  a  pile  of  planks  down  by  the  gray  house,  with 
the  faded  green  blinds,  and  the  tall  lilac-bushes.  The 
girls  sat  eagerly  gossiping  in  shadow,  their  heads  near 
together,  their  knitting  neglected,  a  cat  playing  with 
a  fallen  ball  of  yarn.  The  hazy  autumn  sunshine 
streamed  warmly  on  the  lilac  leaves  and  flickered  through 
them  upon  the  planks  and  on  the  back  of  Victoria's 
coiffe  and  a  bit  of  her  fresh  cheek  and  throat  and  down 
her  raiment  of  many  colors.  Hamor  considered  it  the 
best  work  he  had  done  in  Plouvenec.  He  smiled  to 
find  himself  awaiting  the  young  girl's  verdict  with 
interest. 

"  It 's  good  and  warm  down  there,"  Guenn  remarked, 
casting  a  glance  of  unfavorable  comparison  round  the 
damp  and  chilly  garret.  "If  they  mean  to  keep  out 
of  the  sun,  they'll  have  to  move  over  soon."     Then, 


GUENN.  239 

bursting  into  a  laugh,  "Victoria  is  such  a  fool,"  she 
explained  candidly.  "Now  doesn't  she  look  like  a 
fool  with  her  long  stupid  nose,  and  her  ej-es  like  goose- 
berries ?  " 

Hamor  privately  agreed  with  her.  Suddenly  she 
turned  suspiciously  towards  Jeanne.  "  Jeanne,  tell  me 
this  instant,  what  you  were  talking  about,"  she  ex- 
claimed dicta toriall}^,  a  flash  of  jealous  temper  in  her 
eyes.  "I've  told  you  often  enough,  Victoria  is  a  sly 
cat,  and  not  to  be  trusted  round  the  corner.  I  should  n't 
think  3'ou  'd  be  so  bete  as  to  sit  there  and  tell  her  all  you 
know.  When  she  looks  like  that,  she  means  to  be 
hateful  —  every  time  !  Tell  me,  Jeanne,  what  were  you 
saying?  I  don't  care  an  old  sabot  for  what  she  said. 
It  was  all  a  pack  of  lies.  But  j'ou,  Jeanne  ! "  She 
stamped  her  foot,  and  waited  with  a  lordly  air  for  her 
friend's  appeasing  answer. 

"But  it  was  nothing,  Guenn,"  Jeanne  said  mildly. 
"It  was  only  posing,  you  know.  I  never  spoke  two 
words  to  her  the  whole  time.  Monsieur  will  tell  jom 
so.     Monsieur  did  it." 

Guenn  looked  inquiringly  at  them  both.  She  saw 
that  she  had  displayed  too  much  zeal.  She  deigned  to 
be  convinced,  smiled  brilliantly  with  an  abrupt  change 
of  the  subject.     "  I  know  that  cat !  "  she  said  amiably. 

How  long  it  seemed  since  that  same  cat  had  coldly 
turned  his  back  upon  her,  and  how  much  pleasanter  it 
was  up  here  than  worrying  down  in  the  dismal  archway. 
Having  accepted  the  atelier,  she  accepted  it  without 
condition  or  reserve.  She  forgot  her  fears  and  her 
pride ;  she  forgot  that  she  was  gratifying  her  father ; 
she  forgot  Thj^mert. 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  ara^re  ! " 
she  began  to  hum  in  her  volatile   fashion.     Jeanne 


240  GUENN. 

* 

sang  too  with  a  pleasant  little  voice.  Hamor  was  turn- 
ing his  picture  face  to  the  wall  again,  with  a  profoundly 
satisfied  air,  when  he  heard  an  exclamation  from  Guenn. 
She  had  spied  some  foils,  masks,  and  gloves,  and  was 
regarding  tliem  witli  evident  excitement.  For  once  her 
curiosity  conquered  her  pride.  "Do  j^ou  wear  those 
things  when  you  go  to  war?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

Hamor  wickedly  said  :  "Yes."  He  felt  a  bojash  de= 
light  in  the  situation,  and  acknowledged  himself  too 
weak  to  resist  the  chance  of  making  a  favorable  im- 
pression upon  her  martial  spirit. 

"  Do  all  the  men  in  3^our  country  wear  such  big  gloves 
when  the}^  go  to  war  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  traitor  again. 

Having  satisfied  her  curiosity,  Guenn  recovered  her 
pride.  "We  don't,"  she  said  grandly.  "We  don't 
wear  an}^  gloves  when  we  fight.  And  our  swords  are 
larger.    The  locksmith's  sword  is  much  larger,  much." 

"The  locksmith?" 

"  Yes.  Don't  3^ou  know  him?  "  with  commiseration 
for  Monsieur  Hamor' s  vain  and  unprofitable  days,  if 
denied  this  boon. 

"I  know  him  as  a  locksmith,  not  as  a  soldier,"  he 
suggested  in  humble  apolog}'. 

"  Well,"  began  Guenn  rapidly,  "  he  was  at  the  battle 
of  Solferino.  That,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  vague  and 
superb  gesture,  "  was  in  one  of  the  wars  which  we 
Bretons  have  fought  against  the  heathen." 

"  Ah !  "  remarked  Hamor  soberly,  as  if  grateful  for 
ihe  information. 

"  And  his  captain  said  to  him,  '  Victor  ! '  The  lock- 
Bmith's  name  was  Victor  —  ought  to  be  —  is  Victor. 
It  was  an  honor  that  the  captain  called  him  by  his 
petit  nom.     '  Victor,  come  here  !  *  said  the  captain. 


GUENN.  241 

*'  *  Oui,  mon  capitaine,'  said  Victor."  Guenn  straight- 
ened herself  and  saluted. 

"  '  Drink  from  my  flask,  brother.'  It  was  an  honor 
that  he  said  '  brother,'  and  gave  Victor  his  own  flask," 
she  explained,  with  beautiful  flashing  eyes. 

"  '  Oui,  mon  capitaine,'  and  Victor  drank. 

"  '  Embrace  me,  brother.' 

*' '  Oui,  mon  capitaine,'  and  Victor  embraced  him. 

''  'Take  twelve  men,  and  cut  me  a  hole  —  there  — 
through  the  thickest  of  them.' 

"  '  Oui,  mon  capitaine.'  "  With  each  response  Guenn 
saluted.  Now  she  threw  out  her  left  foot  and  wheeled, 
ready  to  march  ofl". 

''  'You  know  it  means  death,  brother,'  said  the  captain. 

"  '  Oui,  mon  capitaine,'  said  Victor. 

"  And  he  went,  with  his  twelve,  and  he  cut  the  hole  ; 
and  every  one  of  the  twelve  was  killed,"  —  she  moved 
and  swayed,  thrilled  with  strong  feeling;  "but  the 
blessed  Virgin  brought  Victor  back,  only  there  is  not  an 
inch  on  his  brave  breast "  —  she  clutched  sympatheti- 
cally at  her  kerchief — "not  scarred  and  seamed  and 
ploughed  by  bullets  and  sabres  !  " 

Hamor  looked  from  the  girl's  impassioned  face  to  his 
corpulent  fencing-gloves,  and  felt  honestly  ashamed  of 
himself. 

Steps  on  the  stairway  and  a  knock  at  the  door  ushered 
in  Staunton  and  Douglas.  Guenn,  still  absorbed  in  her 
tale  of  battle,  stared  at  them  in  a  belligerent  fashion,  as 
if  she  would  fain  demand  how  the}"  dared  to  intrude  upon 
her  realm. 

"  Is  it  lunch  time  ? ''  asked  Hamor. 

"  Quite,"  Staunton  replied  with  a  comprehensive 
smile. 

1(J 


242  OUENN. 

"  Well  then,  wait,  will  j^ou?  I  am  not  going  to  work 
in  the  atelier  this  afternoon,"  he  said,  turning  to  Jeanne, 
and  inchiding  Nannie  and  Guenn  in  his  glance.  "  Will 
you  come  to-morrow  as  usual  ?  " 

''  Yes,"  said  Jeanne  dutifully. 

*'  Nannie,  of  course,  will  come  and  go  when  he  likes." 

"  Of  course,"  echoed  the  gargoyle. 

"  And  you,  Guenn?  " 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered  brusquely. 

''You  don't  find  it  unpleasant  up  here?"  He  bent 
over  her,  standing  yqvj  near.  His  voice  was  low  and 
caressing. 

"It's  well  enough,"  she  returned  with  a  shrug,  but 
over  the  whole  sensitive  face  trembled  a  warm,  rich 
color.  Then  she  glanced  with  quick  suspicion  at  the 
two  3'oung  men.  Staunton  harmlessly  turned  awa}-  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  Douglas  as  harmlessly  stared 
at  her,  like  a  schoolboy. 

"  I  may  expect  you  then?  "  Hamor  said  gently. 

"Who  knows?"  she  answered  with  her  old  indif- 
ference. 

But  Hamor  knew  that  she  would  come.  Her  eloquent 
e3^es  gave  the  promise  which  her  lips  sought  to  withhold. 

The  three  clattered  cheerfully  down  the  stairway. 
Staunton  looked  inquiringly  at  his  friend.  Hamor  sat 
down  and  broke  into  immoderate  laughter. 

' '  Well,"  said  Douglas,  ' '  what 's  the  joke  ?  Have  you 
gone  mad?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  never  in  my  life  felt  more  suc- 
cessfully rational.  But  that  girl,  —  she 's  been  here  two 
hours.  She  simply  marched  in  and  took  possession. 
There  is  n't  a  canvas,  or  a  brush,  or  a  rag  that  I  can  call 
my  own.  She  occupies  this  garret.  She  is  magnificent. 
■Really  I  must  laugh.     I  must  let  myself  out  a  little.     I 


GUEN-N. 


243 


shall  give  myself  the  whole  afternoon  to  recuperate.  It 
is  incredible,"  and  he  raised  his  e3^es  towards  the  rafters 
in  amused  wonder. 

"  Well,"  said  Douglas  doubtfull}^,  "  I  hope  Mademoi- 
selle Rodellec  will  allow  us  to  come  in,  now  and  then." 

"  She  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  ever  saw."  Hamor 
had  grown  thoughtful  —  "the  —  most  —  beautiful "  — 
he  repeated  solemnly. 

"  We  have  heard  all  that  before,  and  we  do  not  doubt 
it,"  Staunton  remarked,  looking  at  him  with  a  curious 
smile.  "  She  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  you  ever  saw, 
and  you  are  going  to  make  a  great  picture  of  her,  and 
get  the  medal  of  honor,  and  fame  and  fortune." 

"  I  am,"  asserted  Hamor  with  absolute  conviction, 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  Staunton  added  dryl}^,  "  let  U8 
go  to  lunch." 


CHAPTEE   XIII. 

J\yfIZ  DU^^^  the  black  month,"  as  the  Bretons  call 
■^'^  November,  was  a  profitable  time  for  our  painters. 
If  the  working-daj's  grew  shorter  and  the  whist-evenings 
longer,  the  whole  landscape  had  toned  down  from  sum- 
mer brillianc}^  into  the  softness  which  is  the  painter's 
joy  and  despair  ;  and  over  fields  of  waving  flax,  meadows 
tufted  with  broom  and  gorse,  and  apple-trees  mantled 
in  mistletoe,  —  along  ever}-  holly-grown  mossy  wall, — 
through  the  shadowy  arches  of  the  superb  woods,  the 
deep-retreating  chemin  creux  and  the  long  reaches 
towards  the  bay,  lay  an  unspeakable  glamour  of 
atmosphere  and  warmth  of  tone  revealed,  not  lavishly, 
but  in  beautiful  touches  here  and  there,  with  the  reserve 
of  late  autumn. 

The  young  men  worked  chiefly  out  of  doors,  making 
the  most  of  the  long  series  of  fair  daj's.  Hamor,  never 
in  better  health  and  spirits,  conscious  of  growing  power, 
buoyed  by  his  indomitable  hope  and  ambition,  felt  as 


GUENN.  245 

free  from  care  as  a  boy.  Followed  by  one  or  all  of  his 
suite,  he  made  the  most  charming  studies  and  sketches, 
chiefly  of  Guenn  in  every  possible  attitude  and  situ- 
ation. 

Meanwhile  if  he  was  studying  Guenn,  Guenn  was 
studying  him.  Not  an  expression,  a  gesture,  a  tone  of 
Hamor's  passed  unobserved.  During  the  long  hours  in 
which  she  silently  posed,  and  he  was  occupied  with  a 
curve,  a  shadow,  a  subtle  youthful  color,  she  in  return 
concentrated  all  the  force  of  her  intense  nature  upon 
her  speculations  in  regard  to  him.  While  he  painted 
her  on  his  canvas,  she  engraved  him  upon  her  heart. 
He  had  indeed  haunted  her  fancy  from  the  first,  but 
the  day  she  entered  the  studio,  a  new  era  began,  and 
all  the  passionate  eagerness  with  which  she  had  sought 
to  avoid  and  resist  him  was  now  employed  in  antici- 
pating his  every  wish.  He  was  no  longer  like  some 
dominant  object  in  the  landscape  impossible  to  over- 
look or  ignore,  do  what  one  would ;  but,  like  the  sun- 
shine Guenn  loved,  he  had  become  a  part  of  her  daily 
existence.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  never  lived 
before.  She  remembered  with  commiseration  the  old 
Guenn  who  never  knew  what  it  was  to  rise  in  the 
morning  under  the  charm  of  a  beautiful  yesterday, 
under  the  charm  of  an  alluring  to-day,  —  kind  looks 
lingering  in  her  memory,  kind  tones  sounding  in  her 
ears  and  thrilling  her  heart.  She  was  radiantly  happy. 
To  sit  hour  after  hour  before  him,  to  be  of  use  to  him, 
to  receive  the  full  approval  of  his  animated  face,  to 
follow  every  motion  of  his  hand,  to  obey  his  faintest 
suggestion,  to  wander  about  the  beautiful  country  and 
listen  to  his  voice,  for  Hamor  in  some  moods  grew 
extremely  loquacious  and  enjoyed  assuming  a  pleasantly 
didactic  tone  with  his  following,  —  all  this  was  her  joy 


246  GUENN. 

and  her  life.     She  performed  her  other  duties  in  a  rest- 
less  feverish  way,  eager  to  return  to  him. 

B}^  the  river,  much  to  Jeanne's  distress,  Guenn  was 
apt  to  be  abstracted  and  suffered  man}^  great  rhetorical 
opportunities  to  pass  by  unobserved.  But  once  when 
the  busy  chroniclers  of  Plouvenec  events  were  making 
disparaging  allusions  to  Monsieur  Hamor,  not  in  the 
least  because  they  disliked  him,  but  because  it  seemed 
to  be,  according  to  their  ideas  of  the  fitness  of  things,  his 
turn  to  serve  as  target,  Guenn  roused  from  her  listless 
soaping  and  pounding,  colored  briUiantly,  sprang  to  her 
feet  in  the  old  way,  and  treated  them  right  and  left, 
innocent  and  guilty,  to  her  indignant  defence  of  Hamor, 
finishing  by  a  stormy  attack  of  the  whole  washing 
sisterhood.  Mother  Nives  chuckled  and  sneered  and 
always  knew  it  would  end  in  this  way,  but  the  sudden 
blazing  up  of  Guenn  Eodellec's  temper  was  such  an 
every-day  matter,  that  even  the  Nives  did  not  suspect 
the  truth.  Guenn  rampant  they  all  understood.  Guenn, 
meek  and  passive,  would  naturally  arouse  curiosity. 
Little  Jeanne,  who  in  these  latter  days  often  felt  puzzled 
and  uncomfortable,  glowed  with  delight  to  see  her 
assert  herself  with  the  old  stormy  spirit. 

Meek  she  certainly  was  not.  Cycles  of  spiritual  dis- 
cipline would  have  been  essential  to  instil  meekness  in 
that  hot  and  wayward  heart.  But  she  was  so  painfully 
eager  to  please  Hamor,  and  her  devotion  to  him  was  so 
boundless,  that  she  instinctively  assumed  at  times  an 
outward  quiet,  and  her  quick  brain  was  continually 
receiving  new  impressions  of  that  far-off  world  and  that 
different  life  which  had  produced  this  wondrous  being 
so  unlike  the  men  she  had  known.  She  was  fond  of  her 
old  friends,  but  just  now  she  seemed  to  have  no  time  for 
them.     She  grew  less  bold  in  her  retorts,  and  evenings, 


GUENN.  247 

on  the  common  and  along  the  quay,  found  no  amuse- 
ment in  pa3ing  the  sailors  in  their  own  coin,  whether 
they  were  sportive  with  rough  jokes  or  friendly  pushes. 
Their  coarse  voices  seemed  strange  to  her.  She  had 
accustomed  herself  to  a  finely  modulated  tone.  Their 
waj^s  began  to  jar  upon  her.  She  had  grown  used  to 
something  different.  Monsieur  Hamor  did  not  sweai 
in  her  presence.  Monsieur  Hamor  was  never  violent. 
Monsieur  Hamor  had  fine  white  linen  handkerchiefs  and 
narrow  pohshed  nails.  She  would  fasten  her  e^-es  upon 
his  firm  well-shaped  hands  and  follow  their  movements 
with  indescribable  fascination.  Sometimes  he  gently 
turned  her  head  to  the  right  or  left,  up  or  down,  moved 
her  shoulders.  What  wonder,  after  that,  that  she 
resented  the  grimy  touch  of  Loic  or  even  of  honest 
Alain?  Once  indeed  she  spoke  irritably  to  Alain,  who 
did  not  deserve  it,  if  his  breath  did  smell  of  grog  instead 
of  cigarettes  and  if  his  Jersey  was  not  a  painter's  brown 
velveteen  coat.  The  tears  started  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
ran  quickly  after  him  to  tell  him  she  was  sorry,  which 
made  him  happy  for  many  a  day.  But  he  would  have 
been  less  content  had  he  known  that  she  was  waiting 
there  alone  in  the  shadow  only  to  see  once  more  before 
she  slept-  the  face  she  had  seen  all  day  long.  She 
knew  where  the  light  would  strike  it  when  he  came  out 
of  the  door  of  the  Grand,  the  beautiful  face  shining 
always  before  her  now.  Guenn  trembled  and  flushed 
with  joy  as  it  finally  passed  by  in  the  night.  Her  heart 
was  so  full  of  worship  for  this  man,  she  longed  to  lie  at 
his  feet  and  die  of  the  rapture  of  having  his  glance  rest 
kindly  upon  her.  She  forgot  to  sing  with  the  other  girls. 
She  was  always  waiting  for  the  music  of  his  voice. 

Meanwhile  Hamor  was  in  a  high  state  of  satisfaction. 
He  told  his  friends  that  Guenn  was  the  most  perfectlj^^ 


248  GUENN. 

sj^mpathetic  model  he  had  ever  had.  "  Her  intelligence 
is  remarkable/'  he  would  say;  "she  obe3's  the  quiver 
of  an  eyelash.  When  I  think  there  was  once  a  possi- 
bility that  I  could  n't  have  her,  —  well,  it  fills  me  even 
now  with  rage.  I  'm  making  studies  of  her,  to  use  for 
all  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  never  expect  to  find  such  a 
beauty  again." 

"  She'll  be  as  prominent  in  your  pictures  as  Andrea 
del  Sarto's  wife  in  his,"  suggested  Staunton  quietlj^ 

"  Well,  3^es,  only  in  my  case  it's  pure  utility  and  no 
infatuation.  Mrs.  Andrea  del  Sarto  and  all  her  tribe 
would  have  wasted  their  sweetness  on  me." 

"Unquestionably,"  said  Staunton,  at  which  Hamor 
looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

Being,  as  we  have  seen,  an  amiably  disposed  man, 
Hamor,  aside  from  Guenn's  art-importance  to  him, 
"  really  liked  the  little  thing."  There  was  much  which 
amused  him  in  his  intercourse  with  these  Breton  chil' 
dren,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that,  without  unpleasantly 
accentuating  the  role  of  pedagogue,  his  sojourn  in 
Plouvenec  might  be  in  many  respects  useful  to  them. 
Various  things  which  Guenn  did  the  first  day  she  did 
not  do  the  third.  He  remarked  that  she  was  singularly 
impressionable,  had  in  fact  a  sixth  sense  in  matters  of 
her  own  improvement,  and  never  needed  to  be  told  any- 
thing twice.  If  he  raised  his  eyebrows  significantlj^ 
when  she  freely  touched  his  books  with  her  little  brown 
hands,  he  noticed,  with  approval  of  his  sj^stem,  that  she 
never  did  it  again.  She  had  her  moments  of  insubordi- 
nation, of  temper,  of  haughtiness  even  with  him,  but 
he  knew  how  to  subdue  her,  and  his  gentle  voice  soon 
brought  her  not  only  to  terms  but  to  keen  repentance, 
while  Nannie  looked  wisel}^  from  one  to  the  other,  and 
Jeanne  waited  patiently  until  the  storm  was  past.    Ha- 


GUENN.  249 

mor  had  his  crystallized  theories,  and  was  curiously 
proud  of  his  influence ;  but,  clever  as  he  thought 
himself,  his  philosophy  failed  to  grasp  the  situation. 

A  little  episode  in  the  atelier  might  have  enlightened 
him,  had  he  taken  the  trouble  to  interpret  it.  A  friend 
from  Paris  came  to  Plouvenec  for  a  couple  of  days. 
Hamor  placed  his  studio,  models,  and  all  his  belongings 
at  the  stranger's  service.  It  pleased  him  —  as  it  had 
pleased  many  before  him  —  to  make  a  study  of  Jeanne 
knitting  in  a  dormer  window,  with  a  delicious  tracery 
of  cobwebs  above  her  charming  head,  and  a  gleam  of 
golden  lichens  on  the  roof,  seen  through  the  broken 
panes.  Sensible  little  Jeanne  seated  herself  with  her 
matter-of-fact  air.  She  was  as  familiar  with  that  particu- 
lar pose  as  she  was  with  her  dinner.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  was  born  to  knit  on  that  stone  window-seat,  with 
a  strange  young  man  plante  la,  —  his  easel,  busy  hand, 
and  intent  face  alwaj^s  before  her.  Sometimes  the  eyes 
were  brown,  sometimes  blue ;  sometimes  the  nose  was 
long,  sometimes  short ;  sometimes  the  mustaches  curled 
up,  sometimes  down,  —  still  it  was  the  old  story. 
"  He  is  the  eleventh,"  reflected  Jeanne,  suppressing  a 
yawn;  "the  tenth  had  no  mustache.  It  is  better 
than  packing  fish,"  —  philosophically,—  "  and  yet  I  am 
a  little  tired  of  the  window,  and  also  of  the  boxes ;  I 
have  sat  sixteen  times  on  the  boxes  ! " 

The  stranger  worked  rapidly.  Hamor,  at  his  end  of 
the  room,  was  equally  absorbed  in  his  own  affairs. 
Ever}^  one  was  very  silent.  Now  and  then,  Nannie 
breathed  rather  loud,  then  chuckled  as  if  occupied  with 
irresistibly  pleasing  thoughts.  No  one  noticed  him. 
Guenn,  in  a  difficult  pose  with  a  water-jug,  stood  un- 
wearying hour  after  hour,  her  luminous  e3^es  devouring 
Hamor's  face.     At  length  the  guest  said :  — 


250  GUENN. 

"  Will  3"0u  come  here  a  moment,  Hamor?" 

Hamor  said,  "  Rest,  Guenn,"  and  walked  across  the 
room. 

"  What's  the  trouble?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

Hamor  looked  sharply  from  the  model  to  the  picture. 

*'  Chin,"  he  answered  abruptly. 

"  Ah,  yes  ; "  after  a  moment,  "  Is  that  better?  " 

*'  I  think  so.  Your  color  in  the  dark  corner  there  is 
dehcious.  You  always  did  that  sort  of  thing  well," 
Hamor  said  heartily.  "  But  is  n't  the  dress  rather 
c/wc?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  his  friend  said,  smiling,  without 
offering  to  make  it  rougher,  dirtier,  and  truer.  He  ad- 
mired Hamor,  but  he  also  had  his  own  ideas. 

Jeanne  was  very  pretty  to-da}',  in  her  faded,  rusty 
greens,  —  smiling  over  her  knitting  with  a  sweet,  con- 
tented air.  Hamor  went  over  to  her,  took  her  head  in 
both  his  hands,  posed  it  as  he  wished,  talking  rapidlj^ 
and  looking  over  his  shoulder  at  his  friend,  his  face 
brilliant  with  a  sudden  enthusiasm  :  *'  You  have  made 
her  too  old  ;  we  always  make  their  faces  too  old.  The 
youth  in  them  is  too  subtle  to  reproduce.  Look  at  the 
tenderness  of  modelling  in  this  child's  cheek  and  throat ; 
was  there  ever  anything  like  that  ?  " 

He  smiled  with  delight,  then  shook  his  head  with  a 
little  sigh  over  the  elusive  character  of  this  dawning 
beaut}^,  and  turned  to  meet  Guenn' s  eyes  fixed  upon 
him  with  a  piteous,  hungry  look  in  them.  He  had 
spoken  English  ;  she  had  not  understood  a  word.  She 
was  not  angry  with  Jeanne,  but  it  seemed  to  her  some- 
thing was  clutching  her  heart.  ' '  What,  what  \  is  the 
little  thing  jealous  of  her  friend's  prettiness?"  he 
thought  carelessly :  ' '  heaven  knows  she  has  no  occa- 
sion."    Whistling  softly,  he  resumed  his  work, — the 


GUENN.  251 

moment  passed ;  if  Guenn  remembered  it,  it  was  only 
to  look  wistfully  at  Jeanne,  and  wonder  what  it  was 
monsieur  had  said  as  he  smiled  and  touched  her  cheeks. 

Again,  in  the  little  churchyard  at  Beuzec,  he  saw  the 
same  look  in  her  eyes.  It  was  a  place  Hamor  liked. 
His  imagination  was  always  active  when  he  sat  in  that 
ancient  grave3"ard  before  the  tall,  quaint,  stone  crucifix, 
the  steps  crumbling  away,  worn  hollow  by  kneeling 
penitents  for  centuries.  The  grave3^ard  where  children 
played,  and  paths  led  familiarly  in  every  direction  for 
the  convenience  of  the  villagers,  who  used  it  to  shorten 
distances,  both  touched  and  amused  him.  He  thought 
the  church  in  its  queer  enclosure,  with  the  houses  crowd- 
ing cheerfully  about  its  high  wall,  a  unique  gem.  There 
were  lovely  gra3's  in  its  old  granite ;  its  lozenge  panes 
delighted  him ;  its  grotesquely  carved  faces  were  as 
amusing  as  Nannie's  own.  Its  rude  sculpture,  speci- 
mens of  curious  old  Breton  art,  probably-  all  done  by 
zealous  souls  in  the  little  hamlet,  were  not  without 
charm.  He  liked  leisurely  to  decipher  nearl}'  illegible 
inscriptions  and  strange  Breton  names. 

Hamor  was  one  of  that  species  of  amiable  man  capa- 
ble of  remarking,  in  the  solemn  moment  of  parting  for 
j^ears  from  a  woman  who  loved  him,  and  whom  he  was 
supposed  to  love:  "Your  friend  is  the  ver}^  most 
charming  woman  I  ever  saw,"  —  and  this  with  the 
kindliest,  warmest  smile  directed  dreamily  to  his  love's 
absent  friend.  So  pronounced  a  tendency  to  irrele- 
vance —  not  to  use  a  harsher  word  —  could  not  be 
pleasing  or  comprehensible  to  any  woman,  however 
liberal  and  unexacting  she  might  be.  When  one  is 
obliged  to  send  one's  love-messages  through  a  tele- 
phone, it  is  scarcely  as  agreeable  as  the  consciousness 
of  close  proximity.     Hamor  often  placed  himself  under 


252  GUENN. 

telephonic  conditions.  It  was  something  of  the  kind 
that  wounded  Gnenn  at  Beuzec. 

Haraor  had  wanted  a  walk,  and  strolled  over  to  the 
old  church.  He  allowed  Jeanne  and  Guenn  to  come, 
in  case  he  should  happen  to  need  them.  Nannie  never 
said  whether  he  were  coming  or  not,  but  liked  to  appear 
mj'Steriousl}^ ;  and  in  all  his  whims  and  idiosyncrasies 
Hamor  indulged  him  fxAlj. 

Guenn  was  in  high  spirits,  rosy,  the  incarnation  of 
mischief.  She  had  begun  to  grasp  the  idea  that  there 
might  be  still  a  few  things  for  her  to  learn  under  a  roof, 
but  surely  in  the  open  air  one  could  do  as  one  pleased. 
Here  was  no  private  property-  one  should  not  finger,  no 
doors  one  should  not  slam,  no  brother  artists  or  lady 
visitors  at  whom  one  should  not  scowl  or  sulk  or  turn 
one's  back  or  stare  rudel3\  Ii  the  small  societ3^  of 
to-day  there  was  no  one  whom  she  wished  to  caU  a  fool. 
Monsieur  seemed  to  object  to  her  free  use  of  this  word. 
Wh}',  Guenn  could  not  imagine.  Surely,  if  one  was  a 
fool,  it  was  best  to  sa}^  so  outright.  This  method  saved 
time  ;  and  indeed  there  were  so  man}"  fools.  However, 
if  it  pleased  monsieur  when  she  bit  her  tongue  in  two, 
rather  than  say  what  was  perfectly  evident,  she  was 
only  too  glad  to  make  the  sacrifice  for  his  sake.  Nan- 
nie was  never  a  fool :  he  was  wiser  than  all  the  world. 
Jeanne  was  good  and  sensible,  —  nice  little  Jeanne ; 
Guenn  rarel}^  called  her  a  fool  unless  in  a  very  bad 
temper ;  and  indeed  it  was  seldom  that  she  was  cross 
with  her.  As  to  hands,  feet,  knees,  and  elbows,  there 
were  mj^sterious  hints  which  Guenn's  mind  had  im- 
bibed, but,  as  yet,  imperfectly  digested.  To-day  she 
was  glad  to  leave  it  all.  To-day  she  was  unconsciously 
relieved  to  drop  this  vast  burden  of  newly  acquired 
knowledge  bciiind  her  in  the  atelier.      Rejoicing,  she 


GUENN.  25o 

looked  up  to  the  tree-tops  and  the  sky  and  drew  long 
breaths  of  the  cool  autumn  air,  and  in  her  old  freedom 
jumped  such  ditches  and  walls  as  seemed  to  have  been 
placed  there  by  benevolent  powers  for  purely  jump- 
ing purposes.  She  was  irresistibly  charming,  Hamor 
thought ;  and,  as  for  her  boyish  wa3's,  he  knew  many 
nice  girls  at  home  who  would  enjoy  doing  all  that 
she  did,  —  who  would  do  it,  too,  if  the  surroundings 
were  propitious,  —  older  girls  than  Guenn,  and  she  was 
only  sixteen  or  seventeen.  All  health}'  girls  must  like 
such  things.  There  was  that  nice  little  Danish  artist 
working  at  Nevin  :  how  well  she  did  it !  As  for  Guenn, 
there  were  no  preliminaries  or  pauses  in  her  method : 
she  jumped  the  low  walls  with  one  bound  ;  swung  her- 
self over  the  higher  ones  with  a  swift  hand-spring,  like 
a  man  ;  and  the  grace  and  buoj^ancy  of  her  movements 
were  a  constant  delight  and  wonder  to  Hamor.  She 
drank  in  his  approval  with  happy  excitement.  She  was 
living  intensely  in  the  moment :  for  her  there  was  no 
past,  no  future. 

Reaching  the  churchyard,  Hamor  seated  himself  on 
the  ivy-grown  wall  and  silently  sketched  the  simple, 
noble  proportions  and  the  tender  tones  of  granite,  moss, 
and  ivy  of  the  little  church.  "  If  I  don't  do  something 
with  this,"  he  said  reflectively,  communing,  as  was  often 
his  habit,  chiefly  with  himself,  yet  graciously  permitting' 
his  satellites  to  catch  his  meaning,  "  I  may  be  sorry 
when  I  'm  gone  for  good.  I  never  saw  an3'thing  else 
in  quite  this  character :  the  whole  expression  of  it  is 
unique  in  its  vigorous  Breton  simplicity  and  local  color. 
I  must  make  something  of  the  chance  before  I  go,"  he 
muttered.  "  Shall  I  leave  it  still  and  empty,  with  its 
own  cachet?  Shall  I  fill  it  with  peasants,  —  say  Guenn 
as  bride,  and  a  briUiant,  noisy  train?  " 


254  GUENN. 

He  turned  to  consider  her  acting  in  this  capacity, 

—  bUishing,  shy,  3'et  saucy,  surrounded  by  a  troop  of 
brightly  dressed  maidens.     He  saw  the  whole  cortege, 

—  the  3'oung  men  with  peacocks'  feathers  in  their  hats  ; 
rich  old  Breton  embroideries,  in  silver  and  blue  and 
scarlet ;  the  gleam  of  the  coiffes ;  the  musicians  with 
bagpipes.  But  where  was  the  bonny  bride?  Here  was 
only  a  girl  pale  as  death  staring  strangely  at  him,  — 
shivering  as  if  from  cold.  He  passed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes,  then  frowned  slightl}^ :  she  had  destroyed  the 
charming  vision.     She  had  disturbed  him. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Guenn?"  he  said  coldlj^ 

*' Are  3'ou  going,  monsieur?"  she  stammered. 

' '  Going  ?  "  he  had  forgotten  his  own  words.  ' '  No  — 
not  5'et —  perhaps  not  for  an  hour." 

"  I  mean —  are  you  going  awa}'  —  from  Plouvenec?" 

He  stared  at  her.  For  some  huperceptible  reason 
she  irritated  him.  Why  should  she  be  turning  this 
white  imploring  face  up  to  his  ?  He  wanted  to  compose 
pictures.  "  Wh}^  3'es  —  of  course  —  sometime,"  he 
answered  indifferently. 

"  When?"  persisted  the  girl. 

"  When  I  have  done  all  the  work  I  wish  to  do  here. 
I  suppose  —  when  I  've  absorbed  whatever  this  place 
can  offer  me,"  he  replied  carelessly.  "Then  I  shall 
study  elsewhere." 

Guenn  turned,  and  walked  abruptly  into  the  church 
porch  out  of  his  sight. 

*' What  possesses  the  girl?"  reflected  Hamor  on  the 
wall.  "  No  doubt  she  is  disappointed,  but  why  should 
she  be  tragic?  She's  fond  of  me,  I  admit.  Why  not? 
It 's  perfectly  natural.  I  have  influence  over  her.  I  am 
good  to  her,  and  she  has  seen  ver}^  few  decent  men.  As 
for  taking  it  seriously,  as  Staunton  would  have  me,  I  can't 


GUENN.  255 

and  won't.  All  women  and  children  like  me  —  why 
shouldn't  Guenn?  It's  only  a  passing  girlish  fanc}^, 
and  she  '11  get  over  it  and  marry  Alain.  But  one  thing  is 
certain  :  she  will  lose  her  spirit  —  her  greatest  charm  — 
if  she  grows  sentimental.  She  has  n't  the  features  for 
tragedy.  I  must  keep  her  joll3^  It 's  disturbing  when 
she  sulks.  What  more  can  I  do?  I  could  n't  fall  in 
love  with  the  child,  to  save  my  soul ;  and  nothing 
would  induce  me  to  have  any  sort  of  a  flirtation  with 
her.  The  main  thing  now  is  to  get  on  as  fast  as  possi- 
ble with  the  boat-picture.  What  are  those  little  rascals 
doing  ?  "  He  looked  with  a  smile  towards  the  opposite 
wall  near  which  Nannie  and  Jeanne  were  sitting  com- 
fortably on  the  corner  grave,  eating  dry  coarse  bread. 

''  Children,"  he  called.  He  was  often  very  paternal 
in  his  manner  to  the  three.  "  Come  across  the  way. 
I  '11  see  if  I  can  find  some  cider  for  you." 

They  entered  the  nearest  small,  dark  stone  house. 
There  were  two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  and  ladders 
leading  up  to  sleeping  places  in  the  roof.  Hamor  no- 
ticed the  usual  lit  clos  looming  up  behind  the  bench  and 
table,  the  usual  splendid  old  oak  and  fairly  good  carv- 
ing, the  stone  floor  and  enormous  fireplace.  The  two 
women  there  spoke  no  French,  but  Hamor  always  man- 
aged well  with  signs  and  smiles  ;  then  to-day  the  little 
Bretons  could  interpret  for  him.  They  drank  their  cider 
and  were  merry.  Guenn  remained  alone,  hidden  in  a 
corner  of  the  old  porch. 

The  younger  woman  had  a  lovely  boy,  eighteen 
months  old,  on  her  knee.  Attracted  b}^  the  child's 
beaut}^,  Hamor  bent  over  him  with  his  gentlest  smile, 
anticipating  the  success  he  usually  met  with,  in  taming 
young  animals.  But  the  sturdy  Breton  infant  screwed 
is  fists  into  his  eyes,  turned  his  back,  opened  his  mouth 


256  GUENN. 

to  its  widest  possibilities,  and  emitted  a  prolonged  howl 
of  mingled  rage  and  fear.  Hamor's  face  fell.  He  was 
curiously  disconcerted.  The  women  apologized,  but 
nothing  but  Hamor's  departure  would  pacif}^  the  irate 
\>2ihy.  Hamor  left  the  house  crestfallen.  "  Curious 
how  so  small  a  thing  can  disturb  a  man,"  he  musedo 
His  discomfiture  abode  with  him,  and  indeed  he  sair^ 
openl}-  to  the  children,  —  "I  can't  sa}'  how  sorry  I  am 
to  have  frightened  that  pretty  boy.  I  am  soft-hearted 
towards  such  tiny  things.  I  hate  to  give  them  pain." 
More  than  once  on  the  wa}^  home,  he  deigned  to  express 
his  regret  at  this  occurrence,  and  it  was  perfectl}"  evi- 
dent to  Jeanne  and  Nannie  that  the  babj^'s  repulse  was 
rather  a  serious  matter  to  Monsieur  Hamor. 

Returning  to  the  grave3'ard  in  a  somewhat  softened 
mood,  he  occupied  himself  with  a  very  small  and  obscure 
grave,  neglected  and  covered  with  brambles,  —  "  Yves 
Hernadan  —  two  years  old."  Every  line  of  his  face 
expressed  sympathy  with  the  dead  bo}',  —  delight  in  his 
speculations  about  this  far-removed,  unknown  being. 
Guenn  had  stolen  out  from  her  refuge,  her  heart  tender 
and  full  of  self-reproach.  Apart  from  the  others,  she 
watched  Hamor  as  he  bent  over  the  grave.  "  A  little 
ash,  —  a  little  oak,  —  a  little  nettle,"  he  murmured,  smil- 
ing lovingly  into  the  far-off  past,  separating  with  his  fine 
hands  the  rough  growth  on  Yves  Hernadan's  grave, 
"  Poor  little  soul !  Rest  in  peace.  If  you  are  not  at  rest 
after  four  hundred  3Tars,  j^ou'll  never  be."  Guenn 
stole  near  and  listened.  Why  did  he  care  about  Yves 
Hernadan?  Wh}'  did  he  smile  in  tiiat  far-off  way? 
Why  would  he  not  give  her  one  kind  look  ?  Was  it  her 
fault  that  her  heart  ached  ? 

"  A  little  ash,  a  httle  oak,"  repeated  Hamor,  —  "a 
little  — "  Guenn  could   not  bear  it.     The   abstracted 


GUENN.  257 

smile  on  his  face,  the  voluntary  concentration  of  his 
thoughts  upon  an  utterly  unknown  being,  dead  four 
centuries,  maddened  her.  She  flung  up  her  arms  with  a 
cry  of  rage. 

"  I  hate  that  Yves  Hernadan  !  "  she  exclaimed  passion- 
ately, then  like  an  arrow  sprang  over  the  wall,  and  they 
saw  her  cross  the  field  on  a  dead  run. 

"Upon  my  word!"  said  Hamor,  standing  up  and 
watching  her ;  then  looked  pleasantly  from  Nannie  to 
Jeanne  with  a  shrug  as  if  he  would  say :  "  I  wash  my 
hands  in  innocence."  Suddenly,  his  face  changed.  "  It 
would  n't  after  all  be  possible  for  her  to  desert  me  alto- 
gether ?  "  Guenn  was  out  of  sight.  Already  he  missed 
her  vivid  beauty.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  per- 
haps felt  too  secure  of  this  creature  of  most  uncertain 
mood.  "If  only  she'll  stay  with  me,  until  I  paint  her 
in  the  old  ferr3^-boat,  she  may  devote  the  rest  of  her  life 
to  the  exercise  of  her  angry  passions.  At  all  events, 
the  sooner  I  go  to  work  in  earnest  with  her  the  better." 

"  She  '11  come  again,  —  again,  —  again,"  chanted 
Nannie  solemnly,  his  crooked,  crossed  arms  resting  on 
a  low  tombstone. 

"  I  believe  you,  Solomon,"  Hamor  said,  laughing. 

Jeanne  was  well  pleased.  This  was  as  it  should  be. 
Guenn  watching  monsieur  with  great  wretched  eyes 
was  not  to  her  taste.  It  destroyed  her  traditions. 
Guenn  in  a  fine  fury  flying  over  the  churchyard  wall 
was  a  perfectly  simple  and  natural  episode,  and  Jeanne 
felt  greatly  relieved.  Obedience  and  gentleness  too 
long  continued  on  the  part  of  Guenn  Rodellec,  filled 
her  friend  with  vague  anxiety.  So  unnatural  a  condi- 
tion of  things  must  be  dangerous,  she  reasoned. 

Guenn  did  indeed  come  again.  After  the  manner  of 
womankind  she  reproached  herself  for  the  blow  mon- 

17 


258  GUENN. 

sieur  had  given  her,  and  was  eager  for  another  one. 
She  trembUngly  haunted  the  shadows  of  the  common 
that  night,  and  saw  her  hero  pass  twice.  She  clasped 
her  hands  and  held  her  breath  as  he  came  near ;  but 
he  did  not  see  her  or  think  of  her  indeed.  He  was 
chatting  amiabl}^  explaining  some  American  institutions 
to  the  chief  of  the  police,  who  was  listening  with  inter- 
est, as  one  alwaj^s  listened  to  ce  gentil  Monsieur  Hamor. 
Guenn  heard  his  voice,  and  the  odor  of  his  cigarette 
reached  in  the  darkness  before  she  could  see  him.  She 
breathed  it  in  with  a  kind  of  painful  ecstasy.  She 
loved  even  the  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke  that  revealed 
the  presence  of  her  divinity.  And  the  time  was  coming 
when  he  would  be  gone?  when  she  would  not  be  pos- 
ing for  him  all  da}^  long  in  the  atelier,  —  in  the  woods 
or  on  the  meadow?  when  the  others  would  sit  at  the 
tables  with  their  little  glasses  and  not  he?  when  she 
could  not  see  his  face  or  hear  his  voice,  because  he 
would  be  gone  ?  No !  It  was  impossible.  She  could 
not  grasp  the  thought.  Something  would  happen. 
With  this  she  began  to  take  comfort.  Yes,  surely 
something  would  happen.  All  her  courage  and  hope 
rose  to  convince  her  that  something  must,  indeed, 
happen  before  such  misery  should  blast  her  life. 

She  was  punctual  at  the  studio  the  next  morning. 
Hamor  thought  she  looked  pale.  "I  must  take  care 
that  she  does  not  lose  her  color,"  he  thought  with 
some  anxiety.  "  Pacification  is  the  word  —  without,  of 
course,  lessening  my  influence."  Hamor  had  profound 
respect  for  what  he  called  his  influence.  He  sent 
Jeanne  and  Nannie  on  an  ingeniously  devised  errand 
with  ramifications. 

*' Guenn,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  talk  seriously  with 
you." 


GUENN.  259 

She  looked  as  if  she  should  enjoy  nothing  better 
than  having  him  talk  seriousl}'  with  her.  If  he  would 
only  look  at  her  and  realize  her  existence,  she  could  be 
happy.  If  he  would  not  lose  himself  in  musings  over 
graves  and  unendurable  dead  children.  She  raised  her 
lovely  e3'es  to  his  gravely,  and  waited  for  him  to  begin. 
She  had  fallen  in  one  of  her  pretty  careless  attitudes 
on  the  window-seat.  Hamor  resisted  his  inclination  to 
sketch  her. 

He  was  not  fortunate  in  the  selection  of  his  first 
theme.  Tact  may  forsake  the  wisest  of  us  in  critical 
moments.  It  seemed  as  if  the  spirit  of  one  of  Hamor's 
parson  ancestors  of  a  remote  and  rigid  period  had 
taken  possession  of  the  3'oung  man.  He  began  a  homily 
upon  the  vice  of  jielding  to  a  hot  temper  and  the  virtue 
of  self-control,  fairl}'  wrestled  with  Guenn's  delinquencies 
as  it  was  the  pristine  habit  of  his  race  to  wrestle  with 
the  unregenerate  and  the  backslider.  Then  he  en- 
deavored to  picture  to  her  the  perfections  of  the  ideal 
girl  who  never  swings  herself  over  a  wall  in  a  rage. 

The  ideal  girl  did  not  appear  to  make  much  impres- 
sion upon  Gueun.  Indeed  she  began  to  look  ros}'  and 
happy  again.  Under  this  personal  attention,  she  re- 
vived, and  listened  contentedly  to  Hamor's  voice 
running  on  in  uninterrupted  eloquence. 

Presently  he  paused  with  some  impatience.  "  Am  I  a 
fool  or  a  h}' pocrite  —  or  both  ?  "  he  asked  himself  can- 
didl}'.  "  What  do  I  care  for  the  girl's  temper  or  man- 
ners? I  only  care  for  m}^  picture."  He  walked 
across  the  studio  once  or  twice,  returned  to  the  dormer- 
window  with  a  completely  changed  expression.  The 
parson  had  disappeared.     Here  was  only  the  painter. 

"  Guenn,"  he  said  eagerly,  "never  mind  yesterday. 
I  won't  preach  any  more.     Jump  over  all  the  walls  in 


260  GUENN. 

Plouvenec  at  the  risk  of  3'our  life  and  fly  into  a  passion 
every  day  if  you  like,  but  help  me  where  I  need  j'ou. 
Help  me,  Guenn." 

She  started  up  electrified.  His  tone  thrilled  her 
through  and  through. 

' '  You  can  help  me  and  no  one  else.  See,  I  talk  plainl5 
with  you  because  jo\x  are  sensible.  I  told  j-ou  long 
ago,  in  the  boat  that  da}',  that  I  care  for  m}'  art  and 
only  for  my  art.  It  is  the  truth.  There  is  nothings 
nobody,  that  I  would  not  sacrifice  to  that.  You  cannot 
comprehend  it.  I  don't  expect  3'ou  to.  But  perhaps 
3'ou  can  understand  me  when  I  tell  you  it  is  a  matter  of 
life  and  death  to  me  to  paint  the  picture  I  have  in  my 
mind  —  my  great  picture  —  3'ou  — " 

Guenn  stood  near  him,  breathing  fast,  her  impassioned 
ej'es  fixed  upon  his.  She  could  help  him,  she !  Not 
be  used  simpW  as  a  tool,  like  his  brush  or  his  can- 
vas, but  help  him  intelligentl}'.  He  was  appealing  to 
her  to  do  it ! 

"If  you  sulk  and  make  scenes  and  grow  pale,"  he 
continued,  "  you  won't  help  me.  I  hate  scenes. 
Women  always  make  scenes  when  a  man  is  overworked 
and  nervous.  You  made  a  scene  j'esterday  and  inter- 
rupted my  train  of  thought.  Don't  do  it  again." 
Guenn  was  dumb  with  shame  and  remorse.  "Of 
course,  I  am  going  away  some  time.  Could  3'ou  expect 
me  to  sta}'  in  this  place  forever  ?  But  I  'm  not  going 
yet,  —  not  for  a  long  time."  The  girl's  face  grew  radiant 
with  delight.  "And  wh}'  not  help  me,  then,  while  I 
stay.  Wh}^  not  be  m}'  friend,  and  do  all  you  can  for  me 
and  what  I  love  best  ?  Wh}-  not  be  large-hearted  and 
generous  ?  Why  not  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  me 
in  my  best  work  ?  And  after  I  am  gone  —  can  I  indeed 
control  my  going?  —  wh}^  not  be  able  to  saj^,  I  helped 


GUENN.  261 

him  —  I  was  his  friend?  See,  Guenn,  when  you  sulk 
and  grow  pale  and  jealous  and  haggard,  you  are  of  no 
use  to  me.  It  is  your  beauty  I  need,  not  your  small 
moods  that  ma}^  destroy  it.  Good  heavens,  child  !  can't 
5'ou  understand  what  a  picture  is  to  a  man?  Can't 
you  lend  yourself  to  a  large  thought?  Well,  then,, 
consider,  and  try  to  rise  above  whatever  is  mean  and 
petty  in  you.  I  could  not  speak  more  honestly, 
could  I?" 

He  could  not,  indeed ;  but  he  need  not  have  spoken 
with  that  rich,  eloquent  voice  ;  he  need  not  have  looked 
in  her  eyes  as  a  lover  looks. 

"You  are  beautiful,  Guenn:  be  beautiful  for  me," 
pleaded  the  tender,  persuasive  tones. 

Ah,  the  rapture  of  that  moment !  To  hear  her  beauty 
praised  b}'  this  man  who  was  a  god  to  her  !  The  beauty 
she  had  worn  so  carelessly  was  precious  in  his  eyes. 
She  could  help  him,  only  she.  She  drew  herself  up 
superbly.  Was  Victor  so  proud  as  this  when  his  cap- 
tain in  the  great  battle  with  the  heathen  said  :  ' '  Drink 
from  my  flask,  brother  "  ?  Hamor  might  have  studied 
weeks  and  not  found  what  accident  and  his  supreme 
selfishness  had  suddenly  suggested  to  him, — the  way 
to  win,  not  Guenn's  heart,  for  that  indeed  he  had  always 
had ;  but  her  highest  effort  for  him  at  any  cost.  Her 
soul  was  quivering  under  his  skilful  touch  ;  the  strong- 
est chords  of  her  nature  were  responding  to  his  ap- 
peal,—  her  love,  her  loyalty,  her  ambition,  and  that 
peculiar  sense  of  isolation,  of  being  unlike  the  others, 
which  she,  the  cleverest,  merriest,  most  daring  girl  in 
the  village,  had  borne  through  all  her  work  and  play, 
her  laughter,  songs,  and  unconscionable  despotism. 

Hamor  was  gratified  by  the  evident  success  of  his 
influence.     He  held  out  his  hand  with  a  charmingly  in- 


262  GUENN, 

dulgent  smile.  *'  Well,  it  is  settled?  Will  you  help 
me,  then?" 

How  beautiful  the  child  was !  What  was  it  in  this 
girl  that  illumined  her  face  so  marvellously?  Now 
as  she  stood,  there  was  something  heroic  yet  tender  in 
her  whole  being.  It  was  merely  a  question  of  posing, 
but  one  would  say  only  high  thoughts  were  animating 
her  ardent  spirit. 

She  lifted  her  hand  and  laid  it  in  his.  "  Whatever 
comes,"  she  said  solemnl}^ 

Hamor  looked  down  with  faint  amusement  at  the  small 
brown  thing  13'ing  on  his  palm.  Guenn's  eyes  were 
wet  and  beautiful ;  her  face  looking  up  to  his  was  full 
of  the  touching  loveliness  of  extreme  3'outh,  and  of  the 
exaltation  of  a  noble  love.  She  was  trembhng  a  little, 
he  noticed.  Suddenlj^  she  stooped  and  laid  her  cheek 
on  his  hand.  It  was  the  hghtest,  sh3'est  touch,  as  if 
some  little  wild  thing  of  the  woods  had  offered  him  a 
furtive  caress.  Hamor,  as  he  often  virtuousl}'  told  him- 
self, was  not  the  kind  of  man  to  indulge  in  any  species 
of  "  affair  "  with  his  models  :  he  had  no  interest  in  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  then,  as  an  honest  man,  he  liked  these 
untutored  children  to  feel  that  they  could  trust  him. 
But  in  spite  of  his  exemplary  theories,  in  spite  of  the 
cumulative  influence  of  his  whole  august  ancestral  row 
of  Puritan  divines,  the  soft  touch  of  the  girl's  innocent 
cheek  in  its  pure  homage  and  sweet  surrender  moved 
him  strangely  ;  and  before  the  pretty  little  coiffed  head, 
with  the  curl}^  brown  hair  clustering  in  rings  at  the  back 
of  the  slender  neck,  was  lifted,  he  had  flung  his  left  arm 
warmly  across  her  shoulders. 

G-uenn  did  not  belong  to  the  commonplace  melting 
type  of  womankind :  at  a  touch  she  did  not  3ield. 
Every  honest  fisher-girl  in  Plouvenec  knew  from  expe- 


GUENN.  263 

rience  what  to  do  when  any  one,  high  or  low,  permitted 
himself  a  familiarity.  If  it  had  been  Alain,  she  would 
have  repaid  him  with  a  well-aimed  blow.  This  was 
Plouvenec  etiquette.  But  it  was  not  Alain :  it  was 
monsieur;  and  if  monsieur  had  said,  "  Guenn,  I  am 
going  to  cut  you  in  tiny  pieces  to  help  my  great  pic- 
ture," she  would  have  been  proud  and  glad  as  she  was 
now.  Still  not  in  vain  was  she  Guenn  Rodellec.  Like 
a  flash  she  slipped  from  his  grasp  when  he  had  scarcely 
touched  her,  and  with  one  of  her  free  bounds  stood 
facing  him  at  a  safe  distance,  radiantly  happy,  laugh- 
ing, glowing,  looking  at  him  without  the  slightest  em- 
barrassment, but  with  exquisite  maidenliness. 

Hamor  lighted  a  cigarette  with  palpable  unconcern, 
and  formulated  several  new  theories. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Guenn,  with  an  indescribable  com- 
bination of  sweetness  and  mirth  in  her  voice,  "  I  don't 
hate  that  four-hundred-year-old  baby  to-day." 

"•  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that.  It  was  inhuman  of 
you." 

"  Dead  is  dead,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  snap  of  her 
fingers  :  "  we  are  alive." 

"  You  are,  at  least :  nobody  can  deny  that." 

She  laughed  brightly.  All  her  old  playfulness  had 
returned.  She  was  the  new  Guenn,  the  old  Guenn,  the 
same  Guenn,  a  different  Guenn,  many  Guenns  in  one ; 
but  fresh,  fearless,  bewitching,  as  best  became  her. 
Hamor  congratulated  himself  heartily  upon  the  re-trans- 
formation. 

"  When  shall  we  begin?"  she  asked  confidently. 

"  Ah,  there  are  some  difficulties  :  I  must  consult  with 
you." 

'^Well?"  she  inquired,  folding  her  arms  with  a 
business-like  air. 


264  GUENN. 

*'  I  want  3'ou  in  the  scow  at  the  ferry- way,  as  you 
were  that  day.  I  can  do  my  background  well  enough 
from  a  boat,  but  I  suppose  3'ou  could  n't  pose 
there?" 

"No:  I  couldn't,  positivel}" :  at  least  I  could;  but 
the  passeur  would  always  be  wanting  his  boat ;  and 
then "  —  with  her  delicious  laugh  —  "I  should  be  al- 
waj's  hopping  up  to  chase  the  boj's  away  and  launch 
their  heads." 

"  We  might  hire  somebody  to  punch  the  boj's'  heads," 
he  suggested  gravel}- . 

"  We  might,"  dubiously,  "  but  I  run  faster  than  any 
one  else." 

"True,  Guenn;  but  jom  do  everything  better  than 
any  one  else.  You  pose  best,  you  know  ;  and  obviously 
you  can't  pose  and  chastise  boj^s  at  the  same  moment 
and  do  full  justice  to  them  and  me.  I  feared  the  spot 
might  be  too  much  of  a  public  thoroughfare.  You  are 
sure  the  boj^s  would  flock  there  ?  " 

"Millions!"  exclaimed  Guenn,  with  an  expansive 
sweep  of  both  arms. 

"  Then  what  shall  we  do?  " 

Guenn,  thinking  earnestly,  her  hands  on  her  hips,  her 
head  on  one  side,  paced  the  atelier  with  her  free  step. 

"  I  was  mad  to  think  of  taming  the  girl,"  reflected 
Hamor,  watching  her  closely  :  "  she  has  grown  beauti- 
tiful  this  very  morning.  She  requires  her  freedom.  I 
am  on  the  right  track  now." 

''  Monsieur,"  she  said,  stopping  abruptly  and  facing 
him,  "  you  see  wherever  I  go  they  will  come." 

"  Naturally." 

"  If  they  hear  Guenn  Rodellec  is  posing  anywhere  on 
the  shore,  the  whole  village  will  rush  pell-mell  to  see." 
*' Of  course." 


GUENN.  265 

"  Jeanne  could  do  it :  I  can  not,"  she  remarked  with 
the  simplicity  of  true  greatness. 

"Precisely." 

"I'll  tell  3'ou  what,  monsieur;  you  just  make  your 
walls  and  your  slimy  stone  steps,  and  when  you  want 
me  we  will  go  to  the  Lannions." 

"  Guenn,  you  clever  girl,  you  genius  !  " 

"  The  good  cure  will  help  us,"  she  added  cheerfully. 

"You  have  made  the  best  possible  suggestion,"  he 
said  with  enthusiasm.  "The  Lannions  by  aU  means, 
and  then  I  can  get  him  too :  Guenn,  you  ought  to  be 
prime  minister." 

She  had  no  idea  what  that  might  be,  but  she  knew 
it  was  something  pleasant,  for  monsieur  was  looking  at 
her  with  a  strongly  approving  smile. 

When  Jeanne  and  Nannie's  voices  sounded  again  on 
the  stair wa}^  Guenn  was  singing  — 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere," 

in  the  merriest  way  in  the  world,  —  a  sure  sign  to  the 
initiated  that  she  was  in  unclouded  spirits  ;  while  Ha- 
mor,  silent  and  preoccupied,  was  tacking  paper  on  a 
frame  for  a  large  study. 

Nannie  threw  a  sly  glance  at  each,  then  gravely  oc- 
cupied his  boxes.  Presentl}',  in  a  low  and  mysterious 
tone,  he  began  a  monotonous  chant  in  Breton.  The  two 
girls  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed,  first  softl}',  then 
with  unrestrained  heartiness.  Hamor  turned  inquir- 
ingly. 

"He  is  making  a  famous  Breton  chant,"  Guenn  ex- 
plained with  mingled  pride  and  amusement.  ' '  He  can 
make  very  good  ones.  It  is  a  pity  monsieur  cannot  un- 
derstand the  words  :  Nannie  is  so  droll." 

The   boy,    unmoved   by  the  comments  of  his  audi- 


266  GUENN. 

ence,  sang  on  as  if  for  his  own  exclusive  edification. 
His  e3^es  were  raised  and  fixed  upon  a  point  in  a  distant 
beam  ;  not  a  muscle  of  his  face  betrayed  the  faintest 
consciousness  of  his  surroundings. 

' '  But  what  is  the  little  rascal  saying  ?  "  demanded 
Hamor. 

"  He  began  like  this,  only  it  doesn't  sound  the  same 
in  French,  you  know."  Guenn  and  Jeanne  laughed, 
looked  at  each  other  again  with  much  embarrassmento 
With  whatever  hardships  fate  had  strewed  their  path, 
these  happy  Breton  fish-girls  were  up  to  this  moment 
in  blessed  ignorance  of  the  pain  and  anxiety  resulting 
from  small  literar}^  efforts.  Some  subtle  and  healthy 
instinct  of  self-preservation  made  them  now  blush  and 
hesitate  before  taking  one  step  on  this  dangerous 
ground. 

''  Well,"  Hamor  said  encouragingly. 

"  Is  it  a  bird,  or  is  it  a  fish, 

O  waves,  0  waves  ; 
A  bird  that  flies,  a  fish  that  swims, 

O  waves,  0  waves  ? 
A  little  white  boat  that  flies  and  swims  ^  ** 

Guenn  hesitated,  and  Jeanne  went  on :  — 

'*  Under  the  clouds,  out  on  the  sea, 
0  waves,  0  waves." 

Guenn  resumed  briskly  :  — ■ 

"  What  do  I  see  in  the  little  white  boat, 

O  waves,  0  waves ; 
Under  the  clouds,  out  on  the  sea, 

O  waves,  0  waves  1 
A  fisherman  with  a  long  brown  beard  1 
No  fisherman  sails  the  little  white  boatj 

0  waves,  0  waves. 


GUENN.  267 

*  A  tall  dark  man,  in  a  long  black  robe, 

O  waves,  0  waves, 
Under  the  clouds,  out  on  the  sea, 

0  waves,  O  waves, 
In  the  little  white  boat  that  flies  and  swims 
The  dark  man  sails,  and  sails  to  shore, 

O  waves,  0  waves." 

This  original  production  was  rendered  into  Plouvenec- 
Prench  with  frequent  pauses  and  more  or  less  irrelevant 
discussion  between  the  two  young  girls.  Once,  as  a 
lapse  of  memory  threatened  to  swamp  the  little  white 
boat,  a  shrill  voice  from  the  boxes  suggested  the  missing 
line,  and  again  an  involuntary  childish  giggle,  instantly 
suppressed,  betrayed  Nannie's  huge  delight  in  the  situ- 
ation ;  but  when  they  looked  at  him  he  was  crooning  to 
himself,  his  eyes  raised  in  complete  unconsciousness  to 
the  rafters. 

*' Now  I  call  that  very  fine,"  said  Hamor  gravely: 
**  I  like  that  very  much,  particularly  '  O  waves,  O 
waves  ; '  it  reminds  me  of  something,  upon  my  word  it 
does  ;  but  what  is  it  all  about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  h^  can  go  on  all  day,"  Guenn  explained  with 
pride,  "that's  all  we  could  remember,  but  he's  been 
going  on  ever  since.  He  's  singing  still  about  the  dark 
man  ;  he 's  landed  him  now."  She  laughed,  and  looked 
lovingly  at  the  little  farceur.  "He  is  only  making  a 
chant,  you  know,  telling  a  stor}^,  it  does  n't  mean  any- 
thing." 

But  as  Hamor  detected  a  leer  of  infinite  malice  on 
the  gargoj'le's  features,  he  said  carelessly:  "I  don't 
know  whether  it  does  or  not  :  we  shall  see.  Come, 
Guenn,  let  us  try  this  in  the  rough.  If  I  had  a  boat 
here,  and  an  oar  ;  not  a  little  white  boat  by  any  means, 
but  a  big,  ugly  scow  —  " 

*'  I  can  bring  you  an  oar,"  cried  Jeanne  eagerly. 


26S  GUENN. 

Hamor  was  soon  nerv^ousty  throwing  upon  the  paper, 
in  rapid,  rough,  apparentlj^  craz}'  charcoal  strokes,  and 
unintelUgible  masses  of  shadow,  his  first  conception  of 
his  "  great  picture." 

Meanwhile,  whether  Nannie  had  made  his  discovery 
by  force  of  imagination  or  of  his  extreme]}^  obser- 
vant eyes,  a  little  white  boat,  in  point  of  fact,  had  ap- 
proached the  shore,  and  a  tall  dark  man,  in  a  long 
black  robe,  had  landed,  and  was  looking  with  kind  e^'es 
in  familiar  faces,  and  exchanging  cordial  greetings  with 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  he  met.  Thymert  had 
not  come  over  to  Plouvenec  in  several  weeks.  To-da}'' 
a  little  matter  of  business  summoned  him,  and  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  ought  not  to  dela}^  longer  his  visit 
to  Monsieur  Hamor.  The  cure,  as  a  rule,  did  not  recog- 
nize or  suffer  from  the  inexorable  social  necessity  of 
returning  visits  which  weighs  down  the  whole  civiHzed 
world,  and  his  consciousness  of  an  obligation  arose,  in 
this  case,  from  his  innate  kindness  of  heart  rather  than 
from  an}'  sense  of  conventional  indebtedness.  "  If  I  do 
not  go  to  see  Monsieur  Hamor  after  what  has  hap- 
pened, he  will  imagine  that  I  am  offended.  I  am  not ; 
I  find  him  very  amiable,  — for  a  stranger, — therefore  I 
will  go." 

As  young  Morot's  boat  was  running  handsomely 
along,  half  way  over  to  Plouvenec,  it  met  Rodellec's 
going  out.     ' '  How  are  3^ou,  Herve  ?     All  well  at  home  ?  " 

"  All  well,  monsieur  le  cure,"  answered  Rodellec,  pull- 
ing off  his  beret  and  showing  his  white  teeth  amicabl}'. 

"What!"  thought  the  priest,  "no  complaints,  no 
whining?     This  is  singular." 

"  Children  well,  happy,  and  busy,  Rodellec?" 

"Well  and  happy  and  buay,  thank  God,  monsieur  le 
curc^,  —  good  children,  —  all  I  have  left  now,"  he  added 


GUENN.  269 

from  sheer  force  of  habit,  but  forgot  to  lower  his  voice 
and  wipe  his  eyes.  On  the  contrarj^,  he  shouted  it  in 
trumpet  tones  on  the  breeze,  as  the  boats  were  passing, 
and  stood  in  the  stern  of  his  little  craft,  his  handsome 
•head  bare,  a  picture  of  upright  and  jocund  manhood. 

"  Now  I  wonder  what  this  means,"  mused  Thj^mert, 
feeling  at  once  anxious. 

The  cure  went  into  the  Voyageurs  to  bid  madame 
good-morning.  He  frankly  mentioned  what  he  had  to 
do  in  the  village,  and  added:  "  I  shall  also  call  upon 
Monsieur  Hamor." 

''Ah,  that  will  be  a  pleasure  to  both,"  responded 
madame  imperturbably.  "  Shall  I  tell  him?  "  she  asked 
herself.  "  No,  for  then  he  will  not  go.  Perhaps  he 
would  feel  more  reconciled  if  he  should  go  and  see  for 
himself  how  things  are.  A  man  must  see  things  for 
himself." 

Since  that  merry  evening  when  she  had  stood  at  her 
door  with  the  young  girls,  and  seen  Guenn's  beautl 
ful,  excited  eyes  watching  Hamor,  madame  knew  that 
neither  priest,  sagacious  woman,  nor  any  other  power 
could  keep  the  child  from  rushing  on  to  meet  her  fate ; 
but  madame  herself  had  been  surprised  at  the  prompt- 
ness of  Guenn's  surrender.  Had  Herve  Rodellec  not 
fatuousl}^  committed  himself  one  evening,  she  would  not 
have  suspected  him  of  complicity  in  the  misfortune. 

"You  know,  madame,"  he  said,  "  m}^  little  girl  is 
posing  now  for  Monsieur  Hamor.  A  caprice  —  yes.  But 
what  can  a  father  do  ?  "  He  laughed  his  genial  pater- 
nal laugh.  "  These  girls  take  things  in  their  own 
hands  nowada3'S." 

Madame  slowly  turned  her  placid  countenance  upon 
him  and  inquired  :  ' '  What  does  her  caprice  bring  j^ou 
a  month,  Rodellec.'"     But  while  she  told  herself  she 


270  GUENN. 

perceived  the  print  of  his  cloven  hoof  in  the  affair,  to 
what  extent  he  was  responsible  she  had  no  means  of 
knowing,  since  Guenn  never  exposed  the  beauties  of  the 
Kodellec  interior.  So  madame,  being  granted  wisdom 
beyond  most  of  her  sex,  deplored  the  situation,  but 
held  her  peace  and  went  her  way,  never  worrying  or 
alienating  Guenn  with  anxious  advice,  never  consider- 
ing it  her  duty  eloquently  to  depict  her  views  to  Mon- 
sieur Hamor.  She  merely  waited  and  watched,  and 
each  day  confided  to  the  one  person  in  whom  she  placed 
absolute  trust, — herself:  "There  is  no  harm,  posi- 
tively none,  only  the  child  has  too  much  heart.  It  is 
inconvenient." 

"  You  will  find  it  interesting,"  she  now  remarked  to 
the  priest.  ' '  I  have  been  there  once  myself.  Monsieur 
Hamor  was  so  amiable  as  to  beg  me  to  come.  He 
wishes  also  to  paint  a  panel  in  my  dining-room  before 
he  goes.  Every  artist-guest  should  leave  me  such  a 
remembrance.  Monsieur  Hamor  suggests." 

"  He  is  really  very  amiable,"  said  Thymert  cordially. 
"  He  is  going  to  paint  a  large  picture  for  the  chapel 
too." 

The  cur^  bade  madame  good-morning,  she  wished 
him  an  agreeable  visit,  and  on  he  went.  Passing  some 
young  girls  knitting  and  gossiping  on  a  corner,  he 
looked  involuntarily  for  Guenn's  bright  face,  but  she 
was  not  with  them.  Rodellec's  manner  recurred  to 
him.  "His  smile  is  more  dangerous  than  his  blow. 
I  did  not  intend  to  see  Guenn  to-day,  but  I  must  find 
out  what  Rodellec  meant.  Still,  if  there  were  any 
trouble  she  would  let  me  know.  She  promised.  She 
gave  me  her  honest  little  hand."  With  this  comforting 
thought  brooding  in  his  tender  eyes,  Thymert  passed 
beneath  the  tired  little  woman's  casement,  —  thereby 


GUEJSlN.  271 

creating  in  her  feeble  being  a  small  flutter  of  curiosity,  — ■ 
through  the  archway  across  the  court-yard,  up  the  stair- 
way, and  knocked  vigorously  at  Hamor's  door. 

"  Come  in,"  called  the  painter  impatiently,  without 
turning  his  head.  He  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his 
drawing  to  care  whether  the  intruder  was  Staunton,  the 
carpenter,  or  his  new  friend  the  chief  of  the  police. 
Guenn,  too,  was  intent  upon  her  pose,  her  head  turnec) 
away  from  the  door.  Jeanne  rose  with  her  knittings 
and  looked  in  gentle  wonder  and  uncertainty  from  one 
to  the  other.  But  Nannie,  with  an  utterly  unmystic  and 
bad-little-boy  shout  of  triumph,  cried  lustily;  "There 
now,  Guenn  Rodellec,  perhaps  you  will  believe  me  next 
time !  " 

Guenn  dropped  the  oar  which  she  was  wielding  with 
some  difficulty  in  the  absence  of  its  normal  element, 
and  sprang  joyfully  towards  Thymert.  "  Oh,  there  he 
is,  monsieur!  "  she  cried.  "Now,  we  can  beg  him  to 
help  us  make  our  picture."  Radiant,  free,  ros}^,  the 
young  girl  welcomed  the  priest  with  her  two  out- 
stretched hands,  looking  eagerly  over  her  shoulder  at 
Hamor.     "  Now  we  can  tell  him  everything." 

"Well,  I  never  was  more  delighted  to  see  anybody 
in  my  life,"  exclaimed  the  artist  warmly.  "  Pray  par- 
don my  inattention,  monsieur  le  cure.  I  am  so  used 
to  people  coming  in.  I  was  making  an  important 
study  of  Guenn.  But  everything  must  give  way  to  this 
unexpected  honor."  He  did  not  offer  his  careless 
Bohemian  boxes  to  Thymert,  but  pulled  out  the  seat 
of  honor,  the  old  black-oak  chair,  with  the  twining 
serpent-like  roots. 

"  Dear  monsieur  le  cure,"  said  Guenn,  darting  about 
him  like  an  affectionate  humming-bird,  "  you  will  help 
us  with  our  picture  ?  " 


272  GUENN. 

Thymert  raised  his  hand  heavily  to  his  forehead. 
For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  simple  direct 
soul  was  completely  bewildered.  We?  us?  ours?^ 
what  was  the  meaning  of  all  this?  Guenn  hated  the 
strangers  and  artists.  Yet  here  she  was  with  this 
successful!}^  smiling  3'oung  man,  never  so  brilliant  and 
glad,  never  more  beautiful  and  innocently  content.  He 
saw  all  their  faces  as  in  a  dream.  Little  Jeanne  over 
her  knitting-needles,  and  long  striped  stocking,  meek 
and  maidenly  ;  Hamor  handsome  and  cordial ;  Guenn's 
rich  color  and  lovely  laughing  eyes.  Suddenh^,  his 
glance  fell  on  the  pile  of  boxes  crowned  b}'  Nannie's 
malicious  face.  It  is,  perhaps,  a  disguised  blessing  in 
this  deceptive,  m3'sterious  life  of  ours,  that  pure  hate  ful- 
ness often  strengthens  us  where  pure  goodness  fails  to 
serve  as  a  tonic.  Thj^mert  was  very  human,  and  the 
malicious  glee  on  the  distorted  face  of  the  deformed 
child  who  had  never  liked  him  brought  him  to  his 
senses. 

"  I  have  come  to  return  3'our  visit.  Monsieur  Hamor," 
he  said  awkwardl}',  but  with  a  certain  rough  dignity. 
"I  am  in  the  village  this  morning.  I  am  sorrj' if  I 
disturb  3'ou." 

"  But^'oudo  not,  does  he,  Guenn?  "  Hamor  answered 
in  his  sunniest  and  most  graceful  way.  ' '  We  were  only 
attempting  something.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see 
us  at  work,"  he  added  easily. 

Ever}^  intimate  allusion  to  Guenn,  ever}'  "we,"  cut 
Thymert  to  the  heart.  But  the  searching  cruelt}'  of  the 
ejQs  peering  over  the  boxes  forced  him  with  savage 
pride  to  conceal  his  pain. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  I  should  like  to  see 
what  it  is  that  you  do  here,"  looking  from  the  beams 
and  rafters  to  the  floor,  —  turning  his  dark  gaze  un- 


GUENN.  273 

easily  upon  the  dormer-windows,  the  granite  window- 
seats,  the  chimney  with  its  smouldering  fire  on  the 
hearth,  the  table  with  its  few  books  and  the  blue  Dime 
vase,  the  easels  and  palettes  and  camp-stools  and  dra- 
peries, and  all  the  unknown  paraphernalia  of  art.  It  did 
not,  indeed,  look  very  terrible  ;  yet  Thymert's  tortured 
heart  never  forgot  what  he  saw  for  the  first  time  that 
day,  never  indeed  ceased  to  remember  it  with  a  shudder. 

"  This  charcoal-sketch  will  not  interest  you,"  Hamor 
said  confidently.  "We  will  try  something  in  colors. 
Posez,  Guenn,  with  the  water-jug." 

"Yes,  sir,"  Guenn  answered  with  dutiful  alacrity. 

"Head  to  the  left;  right  foot  forward;  droop  the 
left  shoulder." 

"  Can  I  bear  this?"  sighed  the  priest. 

"  This  is  only  a  pot-boiler, "  explained  Hamor  cheer- 
fully. "  But  it's  very  fair  as  my  pot-boilers  go,  —  and 
almost  finished.  Frankly,"  he  said,  laughing,  "I  have 
painted  better  pictures,  technically  speaking  ;  but  Guenn 
was  never  prettier  in  anj^thing,  and  most  people  care  only 
for  prettiness." 

"  God  help  us  !  "  thought  the  silent  priest.  "  A  free 
Breton  girl,  —  and  she  stoops  to  that.  Free,  fearles? 
Guenn  Rodellec,  tamed,  trained,  chained,  —  at  the  beck 
and  call  of  a  strange  man  !  "  He  pulled  at  his  soutane^ 
as  if  it  lay  too  close  on  his  strong  breast.  Meeting  Nan- 
nie's ironical  scrutiny,  he  controlled  himself.  Guenn 
was  smiling  at  him  with  frank  affection  and  undisguised 
pride  in  her  own  achievements.  Her  eager  eyes  followed 
every  movement  of  Hamor's  controUing  hand  and  head„ 
Thymert  saw  with  inexpressible  pain  that  her  whole 
soul  lay  supinely  at  the  painter's  careless  feet.  A 
fierce  longing  rose  within  him  to  sail  his  boat  in  a  storm 
far  out  in  an  angry  sea. 

18 


274  GUENN. 

"  I  must  go/'  he  said  abruptly.  "  I  have  not  much 
time." 

"Oh  but  we  haven't  arranged  anything,"  exclaimed 
Guenn  regretfull}^,  looking  at  Hamor. 

"That  can  wait,"  the  painter  said  courteously,  "if 
monsieur  le  recteur  has  no  time  to-day.  We  only  wished 
to  beg  for  hospitality  at  the  Lannions  a  day  or  two. 
The  prejudices  of  the  world,  monsieur  le  cure,  are 
against  us  artists.  The  world  objects  to  our  methods, 
even  the  Plouvenec  world,"  he  went  on,  laughing. 
"  Knowing  you  to  be  a  great  soul,  when  I  need  you, 
I  shall  not  hesitate  to  turn  to  you  for  aid  in  my  art 
projects." 

"  Very  good,  monsieur,  very  good,"  answered  Thy- 
mert  stiffly,  feeling  himself  in  no  respect  the  slave  of 
art,  and  not  in  the  least  divining  what  Monsieur  Hamor 
wanted  of  him.  Guenn's  clasped  hands  on  his  arm 
roused  him  to  a  clearer  conception  of  his  responsibil- 
ities. 

"  You  see,  monsieur  le  cure,"  said  the  girl,  breath- 
lessly, her  ardent  face  near  his  shoulder,  "  it  is  our  great 
picture.  I  am  in  the  ferrj^-boat,  you  know.  I  am  A^ery 
pretty  with  the  great  oar,  monsieur  saj's.  Of  course  all 
the  bo3^s  would  come  to  see  me  pose,  and  they  would  dis- 
turb us  in  our  work.  So  we  want  to  come  over  to  3^ou, 
where  nobody  will  care  what  we  do.  I  told  monsieur 
3^ou  would  help  us.  It  was  my  own  idea.  It  is  so 
fortunate  that  you  happen  to  come  in  to-da}^,  for  we 
haven't  too  much  time.  The  weather  is  about  right 
now,"  she  informed  him  with  her  newly  gained  wisdom. 
"The  light  Is  good.  It  is  for  the  Salon,  you  know,"  her 
rich  glad  voice  sinking  into  a  pretty  hushed  tone  of  awe 
and  excitement. 

What  cared  Thymert  for  light  or  the  Salon  or  art* 


GUENN. 


275 


projects ;  but  the  intense  desire  in  Guenn's  voice  was 
something  real  to  him,  which  he  was  incapable  of  ig- 
noring. "  Child,  child,"  he  said,  forgetting  the  painter, 
forgetting  the  leer  on  the  pile  of  boxes,  "  ask  what 
you  wish  of  me.  Thymert  and  the  Lannions  are  always 
ready  for  you  when  you  want  them."  He  gave  his 
hand  abruptly  to  Hamor,  and,  in  an  instant,  was  strid- 
ing through  the  court.  The  gargoyle  laughed  long  and 
silently. 


CHAPTER  XrV, 


OU  are  beautiful,  Guenns 
remain  beautiful  for  me," 
worked  like  a  charm  on  the 
3'oung  girl.  She  not  only 
remained  beautiful,  but 
seemed  to  grow  more  daz- 
zlingly  lovely  each  day. 
The  birth  of  new  thoughts, 
her  intense  happiness  in 
Hamor's  constant  presence, 
her  proud  realization  of  his 
need  of  her,  and  her  lo^-al  and  clever  efforts  to  com- 
prehend his  wishes,  refined  and  ilhimined  her  face, 
without  depriving  it  of  the  old  freshness  and  freedom. 
No  happj'  bride,  blessed  in  the  consciousness  of  being 
chosen  out  of  the  whole  world  b}^  her  perfect  lover, 
coukl  be  more  secure  in  spirit,  more  radiant,  than 
Guenn  was  in  these  davs.  No  gallant  3^oung  Breton 
cavalier,  leading  his  Chouans  against  the  Blues,  be- 
tween the  mighty  granite  walls  that  marked  his  own 
fair  fields,  was  ever  more  ardently  lo3'al  to  his  cause, 
than  this  impassioned,  faithful  heart  to  what  it  felt  was 
its  high  calling.  As  a  rose  opens  to  the  summer's 
warmth,  her  womanliness  awakened  more  and  more, 
softening  much   that   had    been   hard   in  her.     Little 


GUENN.  277 

roughnesses  disappeared,  and  it  was  seldom  now  that 
the  defiant  lines  settled  about  her  young  lips.  Yet 
she  lost  none  of  those  dominant  characteristics  which 
separated  her  radicall}'  from  other  girls,  and  made  her 
pecuHarly  herself, — her  boy  like  instinct  for  fair  play, 
fiery  scorn  of  a  blow  in  the  back,  and  large-hearted 
protection  of  the  feeble,  undefended,  and  absent,  — attri- 
butes seldom,  indeed,  found  or  expected  in  womankind, 
from  its  queens  down  to  its  fish-girls,  but  nevertheless 
worthy  of  some  contemplation  on  the  part  of  those  inter- 
ested in  the  higher  education  of  women,  as  rarer  than 
decorative  art,  more  precious  than  Sanscrit. 

Guenn  had  all  her  life  been  protecting  something. 
At  the  age  of  six  she  was  nursing  fledglings  that  had 
fallen  from  the  nest ;  and  there  was  not,  from  that  time 
on,  a  more  common  sight  in  Plouvenec  streets  than 
she,  —  a  small,  rosy,  furiously  angiy  child,  —  rolling 
her  ragged  apron  round  a  decrepit  and  maltreated  dog 
or  cat,  valiantly  facing  a  mob  of  persecuting  boys,  hit- 
ting them  well  with  words  or  her  determined  little  fist, 
whichever  seemed  best  to  serve  the  exigencies  of  the 
moment.  Then  there  was  always  Nannie,  because  he 
was  lame ;  and,  although  he  had  grown  so  clever,  she 
looked  after  him  still,  like  an  anxious  little  mother. 
And  there  was  Jeanne.  She  abused  Jeanne  herself  at 
times  unconscionably,  but  woe  to  any  one  else  who  pre- 
sumed to  take  liberties  with  Guenn  Rodellec's  faithful 
vassal.  In  fact,  Guenn  "loved  her  people,"  and 
protected  all  who  had  need  of  her. 

Now  this  powerful  instinct  was  devoted  to  Hamor's 
picture,  to  Hamor's  interests,  to  Hamor  himself.  She 
swept  his  studio.  She  put  flowers  in  his  vase.  She 
washed  his  brushes.  She  gently  laid  a  shawl  over  him, 
finding  him  asleep  one  day,  and  received  for  the  atten- 


278  GUENN. 

tion  a  brusque  and  mannish,  "Take  the  thing  away. 
I  hate  to  be  coddled,"  which  ingratitude  did  not  dis- 
turb her  a  whit.  Trifles  could  not  affect  her  now.  She 
was  elevated  above  all  petty  things.  She  could  even 
smile  when  Hamor  patted  Jeanne's  cheek.  Jeanne  was 
a  child.  Jeanne  had  not  entered  upon  a  solemn  al- 
liance with  monsieur.  So  Guenn  wore  an  air  of  in- 
spiration, and  grew  more  beautiful  and  more  bewitching 
with  each  new  day's  bondage  to  her  lord  and  master. 
Even  Staunton,  now  working  hard  on  another  great 
landscape  on  the  shore,  and  at  the  same  time  deepl}^  in 
love  with  a  young  Danish  girl  over  at  Nevin,  was  com- 
pelled to  emerge  from  his  all-absorbing  occupations, 
hopes,  and  rhapsodies,  and  observe,  when  Guenn,  smil- 
ing charmingly,  passed  him  in  the  court:  "How  tall 
and  fine  the  pretty  child  is  growing  !  " 

Meanwhile,  with  the  awakening  of  other  new  senti- 
ments in  her  active  mind,  was  the  confused  sense  of  not 
possessing  all  external  adjuncts  that  might  be  pleasing 
to  Monsieur  Hamor.  Up  to  this  period  she  had  been 
superbly  indifferent  to  her  toilet.  If  only  the  coiffe 
was  spotless,  polished,  gleaming  white,  she  and  all  other 
honest  Breton  girls  practicallj'  ignored  the  patches  and 
deposits  of  time  upon  their  skirts,  aprons,  and  kerchiefs. 
They  danced  at  festivals  and  on  market-days  with  never 
a  thought  of  their  imperfections.  The  perfect  coiflfe, 
indeed,  atoned  for  all  defects.  And  as  for  Guenn  her- 
self, although  she  saw  the  rich  peasant  girls,  in  old  silver 
embroideries,  and  broad  Breton  lace  on  their  caps,  and 
brand-new  cashmere  skirts,  come  over  from  Quimper 
and  Nevin  and  all  around,  she  saw,  too,  perfectly  well, 
as  everybody  with  eyes  must  have  seen,  that  where  she 
stood  the  best  dancers  and  the  best  sailors  always 
thronged,  —  even  the  seamen  of  monsieur  le  comman 


GUENN.  279 

dant,  men  who  had  danced  with  pretty  girls  in  great  sea- 
ports all  over  the  world,  —  in  those  heathen  lands  far 
away  from  Bretagne ;  and  many  a  handsome  bronzed 
face,  with  Merle  in  white  letters  on  the  little  blue  cap 
with  the  two  ends  of  ribbon  floating  jauntily  behind, 
never  looked  at  the  heavy  girls  from  Quimper  with  all 
their  furbelows,  but  waited  hungrily  for  a  smile  or  a 
word  from  the  lovely  Uttle  being  whose  grace  and  wit 
and  careless  beauty,  as  she  wound  through  the  inter- 
minable mazes  of  the  gavotte,  made  every  man  of  them 
blind  to  her  patches  and  her  faded  gown. 

So  Guenn  had  had  no  need  of  finery.  Now  she  began 
to  thirst  after  it.  Monsieur  was  always  talking  of  color. 
Monsieur  was  alwaj's  talking  of  form.  It  seemed  to  her 
evident  that  she  could  more  worthily  help  along  the 
great  work,  if  she  had  a  new  gown  with  some  color  and 
some  form,  and  some  bright  ribbons  beside.  One  da}' 
Hamor  found  her  earnestly  scrutinizing  herself  in  a 
small  mirror  which  hung  in  the  corner  of  the  atelier.  He 
smiled  and  thought,  "All  women  are  alike," —  a  favorite 
conclusion  of  3'oungish  men  who  pride  themselves  upon 
their  knowledge  of  human  nature  ;  but  his  theories  were 
put  to  rout  and  confusion  when  she  unabashed  smiled 
sweetty  at  him,  and,  continuing  her  investigations,  re- 
marked :  "  I  am  trying  to  find  out  what  pleases  you  in 
my  face,  monsieur.  I  wish  I  knew.  You  see"  —  with 
her  merriest  laugh  —  "  to  me  it  looks  so  very  much  like 
Guenn  Rodellec  !  "  staring  solemnl}^  into  her  own  great 
blue  eyes,  and  adjusting  her  coifie  without  a  sign  of 
coquetry  or  embarrassment. 

Still  her  best  energies  were  now  directed  towards  new 
clothes.  The  Pardon  at  Nevin  was  coming  soon.  Every 
one  would  be  there.  Hamor  would  see  her  dance.  It 
was  true  he  had  already  seen  her  dance,  here  and  there, 


280  GUENJSr. 

in  an  unimportant  way ;  but  he  had  never  seen  her  com 
pete  for  the  prize,  never  seen  her  reeling  off  before  the 
world,  —  she  thought  with  a  sudden  flush  in  her  cheeks, 
—  and  win,  though  girls  from  seven  towns  should  dance 
against  her.  Guenn  knew  her  own  powers,  and,  like 
the  most  famous  wrestler  of  Scaer,  often  generouslj^  left 
the  field  open  to  contestants  who  had  yet  their  laurels  to 
win ;  but  this  time  she  intended  to  enter  seriousl}^  for 
the  prize  for  the  prettiest,  as  well  as  that  for  the  longest 
continued,  dancing.  He  should  see  her  glory.  With 
this  in  view,  she  began  with  innocent  diplomacy  to  take 
some  notice  of  her  neglected  swain  Alain,  her  best  part- 
ner from  earliest  times,  and  whom  she  had  cruelly 
ignored  for  weeks. 

It  was  b}'  no  means  an  easy  matter  for  a  Plouvenec 
village-girl  to  accomplish  the  feat  of  procuring  a  new 
gown.  The  fathers  exacted  ever}^  penny  of  the  regular 
earnings.  Now  and  then  a  stray  franc  for  errands  or 
some  other  extra  service  made  them  rich  for  the  mo- 
ment ;  yet  Hamor  and  Staunton  had  been  more  than 
once  surprised  and  touched  to  find  that  Guenn  and 
Jeanne,  with  splendid  improvidence,  had  actuall}'  bought 
late  fall-flowers  of  a  gardener  with  their  few  independent 
sous,  and  were  playing  with  them,  enjoying  them, 
caressing  them  as  if  they  had  a  right  to  the  dainty 
things  of  life,  to  the  freshness  and  perfume  of  flowers, 
"  No  one  would  believe  it,"  exclaimed  Hamor  with  en- 
thusiasm, —  looking  down  from  his  atelier  upon  the  two 
girls  sitting  in  the  court  with  their  posies,  —  "no  one : 
I  would  not  believe  it  myself  if  I  should  read  it  in  a 
book  of  travels  in  Brittany.  I  should  say  it  was  all 
chic.** 

"But  it  looks  hke  the  real  thing  now,  doesn't  it?" 
Staunton  answered  kindly.     "  Poor  little  vagabonds  !  " 


GUENN.  281 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  as  Guenn  had  no  pennies 
laid  up  for  a  rainy  day,  and  no  claim  upon  her  earnings, 
she  must  devise  some  method  of  making  money  if  she 
hoped  to  execute  all  her  plans  before  the  Nevin  Pardon. 
It  was  not  only  a  new  gown  that  she  wished.  Her  im- 
agination, once  roused,  would  not  be  quieted.  A 
coiffe  with  finer,  broader  lace.  That  would  surely  please 
monsieur,  —  a  fresh  kerchief.  And  then  there  was  one 
object  for  which  her  very  soul  longed,  —  something 
which,  it  seemed  to  her,  would  help  smooth  away  the 
discrepancies  between  her  hfe  and  that  of  her  idol,  — 
discrepancies  which  in  spite  of  her  happiness  she  per- 
ceived clearer  each  day,  —  a  white  rectangular  cake 
of  soap. 

With  soap  in  the  untutored  Breton  peasant  concep- 
tion of  the  word  she  was  perfectly  familiar.  This  was 
a  thick  and  muddy-looking  liquid  substance  kept  in  a  tin 
can,  and  commonly  emplo3'ed  in  the  washing  of  clothes, 
rarely  applied  to  hands.  The  fine  sweet-smelling  solid 
cake,  used  hy  Hamor  and  the  others  before  going  over 
to  lunch,  she  had  at  first  regarded  with  discontent  and 
mistrust,  but  gradually  it  had  begun  to  have  an  inex- 
pressible importance  in  her  ej'es.  She  had  taken  it  up, 
pinched  it,  smelt  of  it,  when  Hamor  was  not  there. 
She  grew  ashamed  of  her  brown  hands.  Ever}'  day  she 
had  occasion  to  contrast  Hamor's  and  her  own.  Surely 
it  was  the  little  white  cake  that  made  the  difference. 
And  would  she  not  please  him  more  if  her  hands  were 
white  and  smooth  like  his  own?  Would  that  not  be 
prettier  in  the  picture?  She  could  but  try.  Had  he 
not  said  she  must  be  beautiful  for  his  sake  ?  Ah,  what 
would  she  not  do  to  please  him  !  If  she  only  had  a 
gown  all  bunched  up  behind,  with  hangers  and  danglers 
like  the  city  ladies  and  travellers  who  now  and  then 


282  GUEJSJS. 

visited  Monsieur  Hamor's  atelier !  *'  If  I  could  s.queez.<j 
m^'self  in  at  the  waist,  and  squeeze  myself  in  at  the 
hands,  and  squeeze  myself  in  at  the  feet,  but  no," 
she  thought,  throwing  out  her  chest  with  a  long  deep 
breath  in  freedom  and  contempt  of  squeezing  laws, 
"they  can't  run:  monsieur  loves  to  see  me  run." 
Or  if  she  were  only  as  beautiful  as  the  rose-crowned 
plaster-of-Paris  image  of  Our  Lady  in  the  village  church, 
with  her  downcast  lids  and  the  perpetual  simper  on  her 
thin  lips.  Guenn  had  seen  in  Hamor's  little  mirror 
that  her  own  eyes  were  wide  open  and  bold,  and  she 
found  her  lips- too  red  and  pouting,  her  whole  face  al- 
together too  brown.  She  consoled  herself  with  the 
thought  that  she  pleased  him  ;  but  naturally  she  would 
please  him  more,  the  more  she  improved,  and  her  eager 
spirit  sought  continually  means  of  improvement.  Soap 
she  must  certainly  have.  A  mirror  also  was  one  of  her 
aspirations.  Well,  there  were  ways  and  ways  for  a 
bright  girl,  and  the  stage  went  three  times  a  week  to 
Quimper,  and  old  Andre  the  stage-driver  was  good  to 
Guenn  Rodellec,  as  indeed  were  all  the  men. 

One  morning  before  six  she  stole  into  the  stable-yard 
where  the  Quimper  stage-driver  stood,  all  read}^  to 
mount  upon  the  box  and  drive  with  a  prodigious  noise 
to  the  two  inns,  and  then  out  of  the  village.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  early  morning  twilight  that  made  her  look 
so  pale,  the  good-natured  driver  thought ;  but,  accus- 
tomed to  crack  rough  jokes  with  her,  he  asked  if  Alain 
had  deserted  her  for  another  lass,  seeing  that  she  looked 
*'  alle3'es."  Guenn  had  no  joke  in  return,  but  merely 
slipped  a  package  into  his  hand.  "  Sell  it  for  what 
you  can  get,"  she  said  with  painful  eagerness. 

"  What  is  it,  child?  "  he  asked  carelessly,  accustomed 
to  make  all  kinds  of  bargains  and  commissions  for  the 
village  girls. 


GUENN.  283 

"  Only  my  hair,"  she  answered  with  a  little  shiver. 
The  scissors  had  felt  cold  as  they  went  plunging  through 
the  heavy  curling  mass,  and  the  very  sound  of  the  steel, 
as  she  ruthlessly  cut  tress  by  tress  close  to  her  head, 
had  sickened  her.  She  knew  it  was  silty,  and  indeed 
one  doesn't  need  one's  hair;  it  doesn't  show,  and  is 
oxilj  a  trouble  under  one's  coiffe,  she  reflected :  still 
she  was  used  to  the  soft  bright  waves  tumbling  down 
to  her  knees  mornings  and  nights,  and  when  this  dark, 
cold  morning  she  had  gathered  it  up  from  the  floor  it 
felt  human  and  clinging  in  her  hands.  So  she  shivered, 
and  was  a  little  pale  in  spite  of  herself,  as  she  smiled 
bravely  at  the  stage-driver,  and  said:  "Bring  me  all 
the  money  you  can,  and  you  won't  tell,  will  you?" 

"  H'm,"  he  looked  at  her  curiousl}'.  "  If  I  was  a 
young  thing  like  j^ou,  I  wouldn't  cut  off  my  pretty 
locks  for  all  the  furbelows  in  all  Bretagne.  It 's  furbe- 
lows you  want,  now  isn't  it?'* 

Guenn  nodded. 

"For  the  Pardon?'* 

She  nodded  again. 

"  I  wonder  who  it  is,"  thought  the  old  fellow  shrewdly. 
"Come  now,  Guenn,"  he  said  familiarly.  "Take  my 
advice.     Let  it  grow  again." 

"  Ah !  "  she  answered,  with  a  shrug  and  an  involun- 
tary sigh  for  her  shorn  glory,  "  it  would  take  a  lifetime 
to  grow  as  long  as  that  again." 

"He  isn't  worth  it,  my  dear,"  giving  a  loud  laugh 
and  slapping  his  horse's  neck :  "  not  a  mother's  son  of 
us  is  ;  my  word  for  that." 

Guenn  colored  high,  and  turned  quickly  to  go. 

"  What  is  this?  "  thought  the  man.  "  Where  is  her 
saucy  tongue?  Voyons,  voyons,  ma  petite  Guenn,"  he 
called  ;  ' '  come  back  :  we  have  n't  made  our  bargain." 


284  GUEISN. 

Still  laughing,  he  went  on  :  "  There  was  Samson  :  they 
cut  off  his  hair  and  his  strength  with  it.  Be  careful  ,♦ 
perhaps  you  have  done  as  much,  little  fool !  " 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  —  not  that,  my  good  Andre  !  ** 
cried  Guenn,  clasping  her  hands  and  staring  at  him 
with  a  frightened  look  in  her  eyes.  If  she  had  no 
strength  she  would  not  please  Hamor:  he  liked  her 
strength. 

"  Well,  well,  if  ever  I  saw  j'ou  in  such  a  mood!  " 
chuckled  Andre.  "  Never  mind,  I  will  sell  your  fleece, 
my  poor  little  sheep :  only  find  your  tongue,  my  gurl. 
If  3'Ou  lose  your  impudence,  Guenn  Rodellec,  all  Plou- 
venec  would  be  triste,"  and  he  scratched  his  head  and 
looked  at  her  gravely,  as  if  considering  a  national 
calamit}^ 

She  laughed  brightly.  "  Oh,  I  'm  impudent  enough : 
I  'm  alwaj's  Guenn  ;  have  no  fear,  Andre.*'  Then  look- 
ing round  to  see  no  stable-boy  was  near :  "  How  much 
do  you  think  you  can  bring  me  ?  '* 

"Is  there  much  of  it?" 

"  Bushels  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

*'  Perhaps  twenty  francs  ;  perhaps  more." 

"  Mon  dieu  !  "  she  cried  jo3^fully.  The  pitiful  sum  in 
return  for  all  that  magnificence  seemed  a  fortune  to 
her. 

"  But  I  usually  get  something  myself." 

"  Of  course,"  she  answered  promptly;  "  what,  An^ 
dre?" 

Wiping  his  mouth  on  his  coat-sleeve  :  "  A  kiss  from 
the  prett}^  ones." 

One  month  before,  this  would  have  been  the  opening 
of  a  racy  dialogue,  in  which  Guenn's  lawless,  stinging 
retorts  would  have  drawn  an  applauding  crowd  of  sta- 
blemen round  her,  and  the  description  of  the  encounter 


uUENN.  285 

would  have  entertained  the  village  for  days.  Now,  she 
sprang  lightly  back,  and  only  said,  with  an  angry  flash 
in  her  eyes,  "  And  that 's  what  Guenn  Rodellec  does  n't 
give  to  3^ou  or  any  man  ;  and  you  know  it  as  well  as  I 
do,  Andre  Beuvet.  So  give  me  my  package  :  I  '11  find 
a  better  man  than  you  to  take  it !  " 

''  I  ve  a  mind  to  shake  3'ou  well,"  he  answered  impa- 
tientl}'.  "No  jokes?  No  fun?  What  have  3'ou  got 
in  your  obstinate  little  head?  A  better  man,  indeed! 
Are  n't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?  Are  you  trying  to  be 
a  demoiselle?"  he  asked,  with  sudden  suspicion. 

But  now  Guenn,  with  one  of  her  April-da}^  changes, 
was  smiling  very  sweetly  at  him  and  holding  out  both 
hands.  "  Listen,  my  good  Andre  ;  don't  let  us  quarrel. 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  will  do :  I  '11  knit  you  a  pair  of 
stockings  and  give  the  kiss  to  little  Andre." 

"  Give  him  the  stockings  and  me  the  kiss,"  returned 
the  man,  instantl}^  pacified  and  glad  to  joke  :  "I  have 
stockings  enough,  and  the  little  gars  is  spoiled  with 
kisses  all  day  long." 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  said  Guenn,  laughing ;  "  his  face 
is  smoother  and  rounder  than  his  old  bear  of  a  father's. 
Now  don't  abuse  me  any  more,  Andre.  I'll  be  at  the 
Vo^-ageurs  when  3^ou  come  back  to-night.  Get  all  j-ou 
possibl}^  can,  you  dear,  good,  nice  Andre  !  "  she  added 
in  a  caressing  tone,  with  a  little  ingratiating  pat  on  his 
coat-sleeve. 

"Dear,  good,  nice  Andre  indeed!"  he  grumbled, 
but  thrust  the  precious  package  deep  in  an  inside 
pocket,  and  resolved  to  make  that  old  fiend  of  a  Jewess 
in  Quimper,  who  bought  Breton  girls'  beautiful  hair 
for  the  greedy  Paris  market,  for  once  in  her  life  pay  a 
decent  price.  "  When  the  handsomest  lass  in  Plou- 
venec  sells  her  hair,  poor  little  fool,  it  would  be  a  sin, 
by  Our  Lady,  to  let  it  go  for  a  song."     He  smiled  good- 


286  GUENN. 

humoredly,  having  a  soft  spot  in  his  heart  for  little 
Breton  beauties,  and  when  he  gathered  up  the  reins  and 
started  off  gloriously  from  the  Voyageurs,  he  exchanged 
a  glance  of  deepest  significance  with  the  young  girl, 
who  stood  watching  him  with  great  eyes  under  the  oak 
on  the  common. 

She  put  her  hand  instinctively  up  to  her  head  as  the 
stage  went  off.  There  was  a  queer  empty  feehng  under 
her  coiffe  :  there  was  a  queer  empty  feeling  in  her  heart. 
That,  no  doubt,  she  reasoned,  was  because  it  was  a 
cold  morning,  and  she  had  risen  very  early  to  perform 
her  sacrificial  act,  and  had  not  slept  much  the  whole 
night  long,  so  many  excited  thoughts  were  fl3'ing  through 
her  brain.  She  felt  chilly,  and  went  into  the  Yoyageurs 
kitchen  to  warm  herself.  Madame  gave  her  some  hot 
soup,  and  was  altogether  so  calmly  cheerful  and  kind 
that  Guenn  began  to  be  quite  happ}'  again,  in  spite  of 
the  secret  under  her  coiffe. 

"  I  shall  buy  a  blue  dress,"  she  thought,  "  very  dark 
and  mixed-looking.  He  likes  things  dark  and  mixed- 
looking  :  he  can  use  them  ;  and  he  will  surely  be  pleased 
at  the  Pardon  if  he  sees  that  the  lace  on  my  coiffe  is 
good  and  broad  and  of  a  pretty  design."  Already  she 
felt  herself  leading  off  with  Alain  to  the  sound  of  the 
shrill  bagpipes  ;  and  by  the  time  she  went  round  to  the 
studio  she  was  in  her  merriest,  most  charming  mood, 
and  had  quite  forgotten  the  fatal  snip-snap  of  her  dull 
scissors. 

When  the  stage  came  in  that  evening  she  was  wild 
with  excitement,  and  could  scarcely  restrain  her  impa- 
tience until  she  could  escape  from  Jeanne  and  respond 
to  Andre's  signal.  It  seemed  to  her  the  men  would 
never  let  him  go :  there  they  stood  making  their  stupid 
jokes  and  laughing  loud,  while  she  was  waiting  in  a  fever 
of  expectation.     At  last  he  came. 


GUENN.  287 

^*  How  much?  "  she  whispered,  as  he  put  the  money 
in  her  trembling  hand. 

"  Thirty  francs." 

Guenn  jumped  for  joy. 

''  The  woman  said  she  never  saw  such  hair." 

Guenn  was  silent  a  moment.  A  happy  sob  escaped 
from  her  overcharged  heart,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  of  tenderness.  It  seemed  fitting  that  they  should 
praise  her  hair,  —  then  it  was  worthier  of  being  se- 
cretly ofi'ered  to  him.  Quickly  recovering  herself  she 
answered  saucily:  "No,  I  don't  suppose  she  ever  did. 
Nobody  ever  did.  Nice,  pretty  hair  to  bring  me  all  this 
money,"  she  exclaimed,  patting  her  head  approvingly. 
"And  a  thousand  thousand  thanks  for  your  trouble, 
Andre,"  warmly  shaking  his  hands. 

"  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  you  at  the  Pardon.  I  shall 
discover  what  gars  it  is,"  he  said  indulgently.  "  Mind 
you  look  fine  now,  vain  little  peacock  !  " 

"Fine?  Only  wait  and  see,  Andre!  One  does  not 
dance  every  day.  One  is  not  alwa3's  young  and  pretty, 
and "  —  lowering  her  voice  and  looking  cautiously 
around  —  "  one  is  not  always  —  rich  !  " 

Her  hand  closing  triumphantlj^  upon  the  treasure  in 
her  pocket,  she  sprang  back  to  Jeanne,  conscious  that 
she  was  withholding  two  enormous  secrets  from  that 
faithful  little  soul,  —  her  loss  of  hair,  her  gain  in  worldly 
possessions.  She  did  not  reproach  herself  for  her  re- 
serve. This  concerned  monsieur  ;  and  in  general  when 
the  conqueror  "  monsieur"  enters,  girl's  friendships  suf- 
fer a  decline  and  fall.  Guenn's  irresistible  laugh  sounded 
everywhere  on  the  common  that  night.  She  was  never 
more  daring  and  mischievous,  springing  gayly  about  with 
incessant  jokes  and  pranks.  As  intermezzo  between  all 
her  eccentricities,  she  dilated  with  glowing  anticipations 
upon  the  Pardon  at  Nevin. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 


ANY  Pardon  in  Guenn's  estimation  was  an  occasioa 
of  unmitigated  and  vast  enjo^'ment.  But  a  Pardon 
illumined  b}^  monsieur's  presence,  and  where  she  would 
dance  before  him  in  a  blue  gown,  was  a  dream  of  bliss 
almost  too  rapturous  for  mortal  girl  to  sustain.  A  Par- 
don, according  to  the  C3'nical  views  of  an  old  French 
writer,  differs  somewhat  from  Guenn's  rose-colored 
impressions. 

A  chapel,  a  fountain,  a  place  consecrated  b}'  the  re- 
membrance of  some  saint  or  miracle,  —  so,  freely  ren- 
dered, runs  his  text.  The  people  confess  ;  the}^  indulge 
in  superstitious  practices  ;  thej^  buy  crosses,  rosaries, 
and  images,  with  which  they  touch  the  statue  of  the 
demi-dieu ;  they  rub  foreheads,  knees,  paraljzed  arms 
against  the  marvellous  stone,  or  throw  pennies  and  pins 
into  the  fountain ;  the}^  dance  ;  the}'  drink  to  excess ; 
they  return  home  poor  in  pocket,  but  rich  in  hope.  The 
superstition  is  a  remnant  of  the  most  remote  worship  of 


GUENN,  289 

water,  the  ancient  faith  of  the  Gauls,  who  consecrated 
in  their  fountains  the  gold  seized  from  their  enemies. 

Little  cared  Gueun  Rodellec  for  the  faith  of  the  an- 
cient Gauls  the  morning  when  she  and  Jeanne  and 
Nannie  climbed  into  a  hay-cart  alread}^  crowded  with 
laughing  girls,  and  started  off  for  Nevin.  On  the  road 
they  passed  the  three  painters,  who  swung  their  hats  in 
jocose  hoUday  greeting.  They  had  come  through  a 
shady  village  whose  pretty  Breton  name  signifies  ' '  the 
place  of  tears,"  and  were  going  at  an  excellent  pace, 
only  stopping  now  and  then  to  examine  Druid  stones,  of 
which  there  were  several  on  this  road.  A  dolmen,  re- 
mains of  a  cromlech,  and  a  trembling  stone  which  would 
only  respond,  according  to  the  folk,  to  the  touch  of  a 
pure  hand.  Here  young  lovers  came  to  test  each  other's 
truth.  There  was  also  a  menhir  thirty  feet  high,  —  per- 
haps a  sun-stone  in  the  worship  of  the  ancient  Armori- 
cans.  Young  married  couples  would  steal  to  it  in  the 
dusk,  lay  their  breasts  against  its  rough  sides,  and  con- 
fide to  it  their  dearest  wishes  for  happiness  and  home, 
Guenn  wished  she  were  walking,  too  ;  but  it  was  a  tramp 
of  ten  miles,  and  in  consideration  of  her  dancing  she  had 
with  exceptional  docihty  acted  upon  Jeanne's  advice  to 
husband  her  strength.  "  What  will  he  say  when  he  sees 
me  ?  "  she  was  continually  asking  herself  with  a  thrill  of 
joyful  anticipation.  Arriving,  she  had  no  interest  until 
he  came ;  then  followed  him  as  closely  as  a  certain  new 
feeling  of  shyness  would  permit. 

On  a  species  of  shelf  against  the  one  wall  of  the  rude 
dancing-room,  which  was  shaded  by  a  roof,  and  had 
three  sides  open  to  the  weather  and  spectators,  sat  the 
man  with  the  higniou,  or  Breton  bagpipe,  already  in 
position.  The  dancing  had  not  begun,  but  he  was 
indulging  in  startling  preludes  which  increased  his  im- 

19 


290  GUENN. 

portance  in  the  ej^es  —  or  rather  ears  —  of  his  country- 
men. With  joll}'  mien,  distended  shining  cheeks/ and 
crossed  legs,  he  sat  far  above  the  common  herd,  and 
blew  like  the  great  god  Pan. 

"  Oh,  I  must  have  him  !  "  exclaimed  Hamor  raptur- 
ousl}^  plunging  into  his  sketch-book  and  forgetting  the 
crowd. 

"I  say,  Hamor,"  Staunton  said,  "do  you  know,  I 
think  Guenn  is  waiting  for  you.  She  seems  to  be 
hanging  about." 

"What  does  she  want?"  indifferently  and  without 
looking  up.     "  She  's  not  on  duty  to-day." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  Staunton  returned  in  his  low, 
kind  voice.  "She's  got  some  new  toggery,  I  think. 
Perhaps  she  wants  3'ou  to  see  it.  There  would  be 
nothing  very  heretical  about  that,  would  there?" 

' '  No  ;  I  think  we  must  allow  a  pretty  girl  her  small 
vanities.  Just  wait  till  I  get  the  expression  of  that  fel- 
low's hand,  and  then  I'll  attend  to  her." 

"  The  little  thing  does  n't  look  quite  happy,"  Staunton 
added,  turning  away. 

Hamor  finished  his  sketch  at  his  leisure.  As  he  put 
his  book  in  his  pocket  he  saw  Guenn  standing  entirely 
alone  at  a  little  distance,  and,  as  Staunton  had  said,  not 
looking  quite  happy.  In  her  present  relationship  to 
Hamor  she  was  too  artless  to  force  herself  to  chat  with 
other  girls,  and,  concealing  her  desire  for  his  approval, 
await  his  verdict  with  outward  composure.  Her  inno- 
cent eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with  a  certain  anxiety, 
and  she  was  clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands 
nervousl}^ 

"  Good  heavens  !  I  hope  she  is  n't  going  to  cry."  He 
went  towards  her.  With  a  friendly  quizzical  glance  he 
slowly  inspected  her  toilet.     He  saw  that  the  new  ker- 


GUENN.  291 

chief  in  shaded  reds  was  a  kind  he  had  said  he  liked,  — 
that  the  coarse  blue  dress  was  agreeably  dingy ;  and 
though  Guenn  would  have  been  sadly  disappointed  had 
she  known  that  he  did  not  observe  the  design  of  her 
Breton  lace,  he  did  notice  that  something  airy  and 
soft  encircled  the  lovely  face  now  looking  up  to  him 
with  a  troubled  smile.  He  took  off  his  hat,  made  a 
profound  bow,  and  said  with  grave  ceremony, — 
''Madame!" 

Guenn  was  enchanted.  Any  small  joke  of  Hamor's 
was  always  to  her  the  rarest  and  most  delicious  wit. 
*'  I  please  him  !  "  she  thought,  her  waiting  and  doubts 
forgotten,  perfect  joy  in  her  heart.  Blushing,  smiling, 
roguish,  she  made  him  her  lowest  reverence.  "Mon- 
sieur !  "  she  said  in  a  demure  voice,  through  which  her 
gladness  seemed  to  bubble  irrepressibly,  and  the  next 
instant  was  darting  about  in  the  crowd,  bestowing  freely 
the  words,  looks,  and  smiles  she  had  kept  in  reserve 
until  her  fate  was  sealed. 

*'I  please  him!  I  may  be  as  happy  as  I  choose!" 
She  squeezed  and  shook  Jeanne  with  all  her  strength, 
and  lifted  her  from  the  ground. 

"Going  in  for  feats  of  strength,  Guenn?"  laughed 
Alain  admiringly.     "  The  lifting  has  not  begun." 

"No,  Alain;  that  was  an  extra.  I  had  to  wake 
Jeanne  up,  she  looked  so  bete.  It 's  a  sin  and  a  shame 
to  be  dull  at  a  Pardon.     Now  behave,  Jeanne  !  " 

"If  you'll  please  not  take  m}^  breath  away,  be- 
cause I  shall  want  some  to  dance  with,"  Jeanne  begged 
meekly. 

"  O  Alain,  we  will  dance  as  we  never  danced  before," 
Guenn  exclaimed  with  an  eloquent  look. 

"And  the  village  is  so  full,"  said  the  young  man 
gayly.     "  All  the  towns  far  and  near  have  come.    We 


292  GUENN. 

will  show  them  how  we  dance  in  Plouvenec,  eh 
Guenn?  " 

She  smiled  and  nodded  at  him,  and  the  deluded  youth 
did  not  dream  that  all  the  towns  far  and  near,  and  all 
the  noisy,  jostling  crowd  were  as  nothing  to  Guenn  in 
comparison  with  one  foreign  gars ;  that  she  was  wildly 
longing  to  begin  the  gavotte  before  him  as  her  one 
spectator,  and  to  read  in  his  smiling,  uncertain  ej'es  the 
assurance  of  her  triumph. 

This  Nevin  ma}^  be  described,  without  much  exagge- 
ration, as  occupied,  possessed,  and  dominated  by  foreign 
artists,  with  a  sufficient  number  of  the  original  race  left 
to  serve  as  models  for  the  invaders.  Such  was  the  art 
atmosphere  or  art  mania  prevailing  in  this  painters' 
paradise,  that  few  tourists  were  endowed  with  sufficient 
strength  of  mind  to  resist  it.  However  innocent  of  art 
aspirations  the}^  had  strayed  there,  however  devoid  of 
talent  they  might  be,  in  the  course  of  a  week  the}"  were 
apt  to  merge  into  inspired  Nevinists,  zealous  devotees 
of  water-colors  or  oil.  Onlj^  a  great  soul  could  with- 
stand the  seductions  of  Nevin  ten  daj's,  and  if  any 
person  ever  escaped  from  the  village  without  so  much 
as  making  a  sketch,  his  action  has  not  been  recorded, 
and  his  own  statement  would  be  received  by  the  Ne- 
vinists with  utter  incredulit3\ 

No  selection  was  necessarj^  in  Nevin ;  one  could 
stroll  out  at  random,  simply  set  up  one's  easel  and 
camp-stool  and  begin.  Benign  and  indulgent  nature 
had  arranged  an  infinity  of  subjects.  Wherever  one 
turned  one's  ej'Cs  was  a  choice  little  landscape  begging 
to  be  transferred  to  canvas  and  framed.  A  winding, 
shallow  stream,  foaming  over  most  attractive  rocks, 
between  picturesque  banks  and  conventional!}"  drooping 
trees,  small,  quaint  mills,  and  thatched  cottages  of  the 


GUENN.  293 

most  pleasing  kind,  apparently  designed  by  a  special 
proAidence  for  water-color  gems,  hill-slopes  smooth 
as  a  lawn,  and  irreproachable  woods,  were  the  delight 
and  pride  of  the  Nevin  artists.  Yet,  in  spite  of  these 
legitimate  fascinations,  a  visitor  of  an  hour  was  often 
capable  of  saying  with  cold  ingratitude  :  "  Yes,  it  is  a 
lovel}^  nest,  but  it  is  a  nest  all  the  same,  and  one  has 
seen  it  all  before.  The  little  mill,  the  little  stream,  the 
stepping-stones  and  the  foam,  — whj-  it 's  a  perfect  model 
for  a  child's  drawing-book ;  nothing  could  be  prettier 
or  less  unexpected."  And  after  leaving  the  faultless 
village,  the  long  stretch  of  bare  white  road  between  the 
rugged  walls,  with  their  tangled  masses  of  rough  growth, 
gave  one  a  sense  of  freedom  and  distance,  and  one  drew 
a  breath  of  pure  relief,  feeling  the  broadness  of  the 
breezy  fields  of  purple  heather,  rising  slowl}'  towards 
woods  whose  loft}'  tops  touched  vast  cloud-masses, 
and  whose  cool,  gloomy  shades  teemed  with  silence 
and  mystery.  And  the  farther  from  Nevin  one  went, 
—  thereby  reducing  the  danger  of  being  hanged,  drawn, 
and  quartered  for  defying  public  opinion,  —  the  greater 
one's  courage  grew,  until  one  found  one's  self  actually 
saying  :  "I  don't  like  3'Our  prettily  picturesque  ;  I  don't 
like  your  Liliputian  charming  ;  I  don't  like  Nevin  !  " 

To-day  the  Nevin  faction  was  everywhere  prominent. 
The  Pardon  was  a  ceremony  centuries  old,  —  a  festival 
that  would  have  taken  place  had  never  a  strange  foot 
trod  Nevin  streets,  had  never  a  stranger's  eye  rolled  in 
a  fine  frenzy  before  Nevin  picturesqueness.  But  the 
young  men  in  brown  velveteen,  and  the  young  women 
in  Rubens  hats  and  Velasquez  frills  mingled  with  the 
folk  with  amiable  condescension,  smiling  graciously 
upon  the  motley  costumes  and  the  rough  sport.  ' '  For 
us  these  attitudes,  for  us  these  colors,  for  us  this  naive 


294  OUENN. 

display  of  the  habits  of  a  primitive  people.  How  pic- 
turesquely historic,  how  vividly  antique  !  "  So  with 
a  cormorant  power  of  appropriation,  the  strangers  swal- 
lowed the  Breton  Pardon. 

Guenn  was  ever3^where  present.  A  score  of  voices 
asked :  "  Who  is  that  beautiful  girl  with  the  bold  eyes 
,  and  the  graceful  movements  ?  "  The  peasants  answered  : 
''It's  Guenn  Rodellec,  of  course;  who  else  could  she 
be?"  The  painters:  "It's  Hamor's  model;  lucky 
dog !  " 

A  lady  stood  by  one  of  the  booths  with  Hamor  and 
Staunton,  laughingly  twirling  one  of  the  numerous  for- 
tune-telling wheels.  She  was  a  faithful,  hardworking 
artist,  wearing  a  small  hat  and  no  lace  frills.  In  gen- 
eral in  Nevin  the  broader  the  hat  the  narrower  the 
talent,  the  more  expansive  the  frills  the  more  limited 
the  diligence.  Three  times  she  twirled  and  lost,  yet 
mottoes  and  small  prizes  were  plentiful.  As  she  turned 
away  with  a  jest,  she  felt  a  little  pull  at  her  elbow,  and 
saw  an  eager,  brilliant  face  close  by  her  shoulder. 

"  Here,  mademoiselle,"  and  Guenn  thrust  a  box  of 
sweetmeats  in  her  hand. 

"But  why,  child?"  drawing  back  a  little,  eying  her 
curiousl}^ 

"You  have  lost  every  time.  It  is  a  pity  always  to 
lose  :  I  have  gained  ever3'thing  ;  even  the  gypsy  woman 
with  the  serpent  in  the  tent  over  there  gave  me  a  good 
fortune,  and  she  is  a  witch,  you  know,  and  has  the  evi! 
eye.     Take  it,  mademoiselle." 

"  You  are  very  generous,"  said  the  young  artist,  smil- 
ing and  looking  at  her  with  interest. 

"  Meme  chose,"  returned  Guenn  carelessly. 

"Who  are  you,  child?  I  have  never  seen  you  a< 
Nevin." 


.       GUENN.  295 

Once,  in  the  days  of  her  freedom,  Guenn  would  have 
answered  with  an  insolent  "  I  'm  Guenn  Rodellec  ;  who 
are  you?  "  Now  she  said,  with  a  prett}^  and  confident 
glance  at  Hamor,  pointing  her  thumb  at  him:  "His 
model,"  proud  to  follow  his  chariot,  a  nameless  slave. 

"  What  a  beautiful  and  remarkable  girl,"  murmured 
the  lady  in  English. 

Hamor  smiled  and  twirled  his  mustache. 

Some  acquaintances,  also  painters,  had  joined  the 
group  and  were  watching  the  little  central  figure  with 
undisguised  admiration.  Guenn  scowled  at  them  an 
instant,  then  turned  to  Hamor:  "  I  must  go  now,"  she 
said  abruptly. 

"Wait  a  moment;  mademoiselle  wishes  you  to 
wait." 

"Yes,  do  wait;  and  I  will  take  your  bonbons  for 
luck." 

"  That  is  nice  of  you,"  Guenn  responded  calmly. 

"But  give  me  something  in  remembrance  too,"  the 
young  lady  continued,  delighted  with  the  girl's  frank- 
ness, beauty,  and  the  graciousness  of  the  impulse  which 
had  led  this  village  child  to  wish  to  share  her  good  luck 
with  a  less  fortunate  being:  "  something  I  can  keep; 
one  of  these  pretty  pins,  if  you  would  —  " 

"  Gladly,  mademoiselle,"  and  Guenn  divested  herself 
of  one  of  her  trophies.  She  was  decorated  hke  a  field- 
marshal  blazing  with  orders  at  a  court-ball,  her  kerchief 
being  adorned  with  rows  of  long  wax-headed  pins  in  all 
colors,  with  pendants  and  glittering  tinsel  chains,  — 
tributes  of  devotion  from  half  the  sailors  and  well-to-do 
vj'oung  farmers  at  the  Pardon. 

"  Why  did  you  choose  that  color?"  asked  the  artist, 
taking  the  soft-blue  ornament  and  fastening  it  in  her 
dress. 


296  GUENN. 

"Because  it's  the  prettiest,  and  the  color  of  made- 
moiselle's eyes,"  Guenn  said  simpl}',  without  the  least 
intention  to  flatter. 

A  murmur  of  admiring  comment  followed  in  English. 

"  She  does  you  credit,  Hamor,"  said  a  Nevin  man. 

"  Who  would  expect  that  repartee  from  a  Plouvenec 
fish-girl?"  added  another. 

"  The  fact  is,"  Hamor  returned,  laughing  a  little,  "  I 
hardl}'  recognize  her  with  these  new  social  graces.  She 
is  in  a  surprisingly  good  mood.  Guenn  is  the  handsom- 
est girl  I  ever  saw  in  m}'  life,  and  I  'm  doing  some  pretty- 
fair  work  with  her ;  but  as  for  amiabilit}',  the  less  said 
the  better.     Happily  it  is  not  an  essential." 

Guenn,  hearing  his  dear  voice  speak  her  name,  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  grateful  smile. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hamor,"  cried  the  5'oung  lady  reproach- 
fully, "she's  the  most  charming  little  thing  in  the 
world,  and  has  the  sweetest  temper,  I  am  sure." 

Guenn  was  staring  in  a  friendl}^  waj'  at  them  all,  her 
hands  on  her  hips,  swinging  herself  gently  to  and  fro  in 
time  to  the  enlivening  strains  of  the  carousel,  where 
Nannie,  dizz}'  but  ecstatic,  was  soaring  proudlj'  aloft, 
taking  his  seventh  aerial  excursion  upon  a  foaming 
wooden  charger  with  scarlet  ears. 

"  Your  name  is  Guenn?  "  asked  the  artist,  merely  to 
prolong  the  conversation. 

"Yes,  I'm  Guenn,"  wondering  if  Hamor  liked  a 
plain  gra}'  dress  and  linen  collar,  and  wishing  she  could 
see  the  ladj-'s  hands  ungloved. 

"  But  you  do  not  know  me?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do  :  3'ou  are  Monsieur  Staunton's  sweet' 
heart." 

The  stranger  blushed  deepl}-.  She  and  Staunton 
were  still  in  the  stage  of  vague  and  pleasurable  uncer- 


GUENN.  297 

tainty,  and  she  was  not  prepared  for  this  uncompromis- 
ing directness. 

The  3'oung  Englishman  came  promptly  to  the  rescue  : 
"  But,  Guenn,  you  wear  no  end  of  pretty  things  ;  why 
have  you  more  than  anybody  else  ?  " 

*'  Because  I  am  the  favorite,  to  be  sure,"  raising  her 
eyebrows  with  some  surprise,  as  if  everybody  ought 
to  know  that  self-evident  truth.  "Good-day;  I'm 
going." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  again,"  remarked  the  young 
lady,  recovering  her  composure. 

"Oh,  you'll  see  me  dance,  of  course,"  Guenn  said 
brightty  ;  "  everybody '11  see  me  dance.  You'd  better 
get  a  good  place  soon,"  she  said  eagerly  to  Hamor, 
"  so  that  you  can  see  me  wherever  I  go.  Hark  !  Don't 
you  hear?  That's  the  call:  we're  going  to  begin." 
She  clasped  her  hands  above  her  head,  and  giving  him 
one  intense  look  of  excitement,  joy,  and  devotion,  she 
sprang  rapidly  through  the  crowd,  pushing  and  elbowing 
her  way  freety  towards  Alain,  who  was  spinning  along 
with  equal  momentum  from  the  opposite  direction. 
Smiling  broadlj^  upon  the  three  judges  with  a  deliberate 
intention  of  prejudicing  their  opinion,  she  took  her  place 
in  the  line :  but  such  audacious  wiles  were  superfluous  ; 
for,  had  her  feet  been  less  light  and  untiring,  her  move- 
ments less  elastic  and  graceful,  where  was  the  man  who 
could  resist  her  lovely  face  ? 

The  gavotte  began.  The  bagpipes  shrieked  their 
monotonous  shrill  tune.  Back  and  forward,  balancing, 
turning,  passing  on,  wreathed  the  interminable  line  of 
couples, — peasants  in  the  distinctive  dress  of  their 
villages  and  districts ;  heavy  young  men  and  women 
taking  their  pleasure  soberly,  not  knowing  what  to  do 
with  their  feet,  but  pushing  on  with  stolid  endurance ; 


298  GUENN, 

awkward  and  grinning  j^ouths  and  maidens  taking  their 
pleasure  sh}'!}-,  but  3ielding  gradually  to  its  intoxica- 
tion ;  handsome  sailors  from  the  Merle,  dancing  ea- 
sily with  a  superior  air  of  worldliness,  giving  one  another 
knowing  winks  in  the  midst  of  their  rustic  conquests ; 
peasant  heiresses,  conscious  of  their  prerogative  and 
of  much  silver  embroidery,  and  over  careful  of  their 
steps,  —  such  were  the  dancers  springing,  shuffling,  mov- 
ing on  and  on,  as  a  rule  with  more  good  faith  than  grace, 
to  the  indefatigable  shriek  of  the  bagpipes  and  their 
own  ever-increasing  laughter  and  noisy  talk. 

Perfect  in  rhythm,  exquisite  in  the  free  grace  of  her 
motion,  Guenn  Rodellec  danced  with  a  passionate 
abandon  which  captivated  the  painters  and  turned  the 
elderly  brains  of  the  rustic  judges.  Her  small  head 
erect,  hei'  smiles  by  turns  mocking  and  sweet,  her 
cheeks  flushed  deliciously,  her  light  little  figure  balanc- 
ing, swaying,  retreating,  beckoning  the  enamoured 
Alain  on,  her  clear  e3"es  seeking  Hamor's  with  a  kind  of 
proud  pleading,  —  the  girl  was  a  breathing  poem. 

The  music  stopped.  The}'  called  her  name.  She 
went  forward  to  receive  the  prize  for  the  best  dancing. 
It  was  a  long  light  silver  chain.  She  took  it  with  a 
little  cry  of  pleasure.  Hamor,  smiling  kindly  at  her, 
was  standing  near.  "Let  me  put  it  on  for  you,"  he 
said,  throwing  it  lightly  over  her  shoulders.  Guenn's 
e^^elids  drooped  till  the  dark  lashes  shaded  her  cheeks, 
and  her  heart  beat  faster  from  his  attention  than  from 
all  her  rapid  exercise. 

"Aha,"  laughed  a  Nevin  artist.  "You  flirt  with 
them,  do  j^ou?" 

"Never,"  returned  Hamor  with  dignity.  "I  am 
merely  kind  to  them." 

After  a  pause,  of  inhuman   brevity   it  would   have 


GUENJSr.  299 

seemed  to  most  people,  the  musician  sounded  the  call, 
and  the  same  couples  for  the  most  part  formed  for  the 
more  important  trial,  the  longest  continued  dancing. 

"This  is  the  greater  honor,"  Guenn  confided  to 
Hamor  in  an  excited  whisper. 

"  Then  I  hope  3'Ou  may  get  it." 

"  Ah,  now  I  have  no  fear,"  she  said  sweetly. 

She  took  her  place,  smoothed  her  coiffe,  already  as 
smooth  as  glass,  repinned  her  red  kerchief,  and  patted 
her  skirts,  as  if  some  unforeseen  looseness,  some  stray 
end  or  fold  in  her  extremely  compact  little  costume 
might  impede  her  movements  or  lessen  her  powers  of 
endurance.  This  was  going  to  be  a  very  different  kind 
of  contest,  she  well  knew.  It  was  not  speed  or  light- 
ness this  time,  and  other  girls  were  sound  of  wind  and 
strong  of  limb.  She  straightened  herself  and  looked 
very  much  in  earnest.  "We  must  not  laugh  and 
talk  at  first,  Alain,"  she  warned.  Alain  assented,  as 
deeplj^  impressed  as  she  with  the  vastness  of  the 
moment.  Guenn  turned  and  cleverly  measured  her 
foes.  "  There 's  that  proud  thing  from  Trevignan. 
She  tossed  her  head  at  me.  She  thinks  she 's  going  to 
win." 

"  Toss  yours  —  " 

"Why,  I  did,  simpleton.  I've  tossed  it  at  every 
good  dancer  in  the  line.  Alain,  I  shall  die  if  we  don't 
win  !     Wait  —  " 

She  had  spied  Nannie  leaning  on  a  cider-keg  in  a 
corner.  In  an  instant  she  was  near  him.  "  Nannie  — 
Nannie,  it  is  luck  ?  "  bending  over  the  pale  face  of  the 
self-appointed  oracle.  "Quick/'  she  begged  softly, 
"is  it  luck?" 

"It  is  luck,  this  time,"  croaked  the  child  with  mys- 
terious emphasis. 


300  GUENN. 

Back  she  flew  to  Alain  just  in  time  to  begin.  "Luck, 
luck!"  cried  the  bagpipes,  "Luck!"  echoed  her 
happy  heart,  and  she  heard  an  emphatic  ' '  Luck !  "  in 
every  stamp  with  which  honest  Alain  marked  the  time, 
self-contained  reserved  stamps  indeed,  now  since  breath 
was  precious.  She  saw  Hamor's  face  and  Nannie's, 
her  own  grew  white  with  excitement,  as  she  moved  at 
first  with  measured  gentle  step.  On  went  the  monoto= 
nous  hornpipe  or  jig,  round  and  round  moved  the  long 
circle  of  the  gavotte,  after  a  half-hour  growing  percepti- 
bh^  smaller.  The  Trevignan  heiress  was  crimson  to 
the  temples,  and  panting  audibly.  Man}^  an  honora- 
ble rival  had  retreated  to  gasp  for  breath  outside. 
Then  Guenn  threw  prudence  to  the  winds.  "  Aliens  !  " 
she  cried  and  danced  as  she  never  danced  before. 
"Faster!"  she  called  to  the  last  rela}^  of  musicians, 
then  laughingly  beckoned  them  to  descend  from  their 
perch.  Wondering,  steadily  playing,  they  slowly  obeyed. 
Every  ej^e  was  on  her.  Her  magnetism  controlled  the 
room.  Not  a  trace  of  fatigue  showed  itself  in  her 
brilliant  little  face  or  in  her  buo3'ant  movements.  Im- 
perious, loveh^  audacious,  laughing,  she  led  the  dancers 
with  a  sudden  bound  out  of  the  building  into  the 
village-street,  where,  in  this  vital  moment,  the  free  air 
and  sunshine  summoned  her  with  irresistible  force. 
By  the  booths  and  the  hurdy-gurdies  back  and  forth 
went  the  line,  now  reduced  to  ten  or  fifteen  couples, 
and  followed  by  the  crowd  with  the  intense  inter- 
est which  a  genuine  race  of  any  description  always 
inspires.  Again  Guenn's  clever  eyes  took  account  of 
the  weaknesses  of  her  adversaries.  "  Brigitte  has  her 
hand  on  her  side,  and  Marie  is  pale  about  the  mouth. 
O  joy ! "  Towards  the  church  where  the  Pardon  cer- 
emonies   that   morning    had   begun   with   the   proces' 


GUENN.  301 

sion  of  chanting  priests,  and  the  train  of  men  and 
women  with  tall  tapers,  and  gold  and  white  banners, 
moving  three  times  round  the  grave3'ard,  this  charming 
little  imitation  of  the  Pied  Piper  was  now  leading  them, 
with  a  refinement  of  strateg}^  up  hill.  But  the  ex- 
hausted nature  of  the  whole  assembly  could  endure  no 
more.  One  after  another,  the  couples  retired  to  private 
life.  Last  of  all  the  bagpipes  expired  with  a  wheeze  of 
fatigue.  Alain,  whether  from  gallantry  or  want  of 
breath,  had  already  stopped,  and  Guenn  stood  facing 
the  crowd  alone  and  victorious. 

She  extended  her  arms  wide  and  threw  them  back, 
as  if  to  exhibit  beyond  a  doubt  to  all  mankind  the 
veritable  person  of  the  victor,  then  let  them  slowl}'  fall, 
her  lips  parted,  breathing  fast  more  from  excitement 
than  fatigue.  It  was  the  zenith  of  her  glory.  She 
raised  her  impassioned  eyes  towards  the  sky :  she  saw 
the  green  hill  slopes  and  tree-tops  beyond  the  narrow 
village-street,  and  the  small  stone  houses  and  the  wait- 
ing crowd  with  all  the  familiar  faces  watching  her. 
Her  father  and  Loic  and  Hoel ;  the  handsome  sailors 
of  the  Merle ;  Meurice  and  Andre  smiling  broadly  at 
her ;  the  girls  she  had  always  known ;  and  all  the 
fish- wives  of  Plouvenec.  It  was  her  world  witnessing 
her  triumph.  She  could  lay  it  now  at  Hamor's  feet. 
These  poor  laurels,  fairly  won,  were  the  best  she  knew. 
Trembling  with  emotion,  her  whole  ardent  soul  called 
to  Hamor's.  Her  beautiful  eyes  sought  his  with  a 
passionate  yet  childlike  praj^er.  "Your  smile  too,  O 
my  master  !  "  they  pleaded,.  "  your  smile,  to  crown  my 

joy-" 

Hamor  had  watched  her  steadily  and  with  extreme 
pleasure,  but  at  this  moment  he  happened  to  be  discuss- 
ing a  moral  point  with  considerable  animation.     The 


302  GUENN. 

Danish  girl  had  remarked  that  it  would  be  a  pity  little 
Helene  should  grow  vain  and  spoiled,  —  posing  so  3'oung, 
and  continuall}'  hearing  her  beaut}'  discussed  in  detail. 
Hamor  argued  that  she  was  far  better  off,  serving  as  a 
useful  stud}^  to  the  painters,  whatever  the  stimulating 
effects  upon  her  self-esteem,  than  if  she  should  grow  up 
in  utter  unconsciousness  of  her  beauty  to  toil  and  be- 
come coarse  and  \xg\y  with  sardine-packing  and  rough 
work. 

Guenn  saw  his  face  turned  from  her,  —  his  face  alone, 
in  this  great  moment,  —  his  face  alone  in  this  great 
crowd.  She  pressed  her  hand  suddenl}'  to  her  side. 
What  she  felt  was  akin  to  strong  physical  pain.  There 
was,  with  the  cruel  disappointment,  a  look  of  startled 
incredulity  in  her  face.  She  stretched  her  head  for- 
ward. Her  e3'es  dilated.  He  would  surel}'  look. 
Bending  easily  towards  the  3'oung  artist,  Hamor  was 
fluentl}^  expounding  his  comfortable  sophistries.  Guenn 
made  one  impetuous  step  towards  him.  Her  nature 
instinctivel}'  prompted  a  fierce  attack  of  the  lady  and  a 
storm  of  open  reproach  to  Hamor.  But  love  and  pain 
had  begun  their  work  of  discipline.  She  turned  to 
Alain  and  Jeanne  who  were  nearest,  and,  moving 
heavil}',  as  if  all  her  strength  and  buoj'ancy  had  left 
her,  said  with  a  strained  look  about  the  mouth :  "  I 
shall  never  dance  again  ! " 

What  was  it  all  worth !  The  long  waiting ;  the 
glowing  anticipations  ;  the  sacrifice  of  her  soft,  shining 
hair ;  her  eager  hope  to  please  him  with  the  poor  little 
gown  so  dearly  bought ;  the  admiration  in  the  bold 
eyes  of  the  Merle  sailors  ;  the  envy  of  the  girls  ;  the 
stirring  call  of  the  bagpipes  ;  the  rapture  of  the  cir- 
cling gavotte  ;  the  joy  in  being  3^oung  and  strong  and 
lightest  of  foot  and  prettiest  of  face  ;  and  all  the  ex- 


GUENN.  303 

uDerance  of  life  and  pride  and  ambition  that  had  caused 
her  in  the  intensity  of  her  triumph  to  face  the  whole 
village  and  the  whole  unknown  world  beyond  in  tacit 
challenge,  —  imperiously  demanding,  "Is  there  then 
anything  more  glorious  than  this,  to  be  Guenn  Rodellec 
and  win  both  prizes  in  public  contest  with  the  best 
dancers  of  all  Cornouaille  ? "  —  what  was  it  worth  ? 
What  was  life  itself  worth  ?  He  had  turned  away  his 
face.  If  she  could  flee  into  dark  woods  and  crawl  into 
a  cave  and  lie  upon  the  ground  and  die !  It  was  too 
light  here,  and  the  people  made  a  cruel  noise. 

"  Take  me  away,"  she  cried  hoarsel}'  to  Alain. 

"But  the  prize,  Guenn,  the  prize!"  exclaimed 
Jeanne.  "  The}^  are  waiting  to  give  it  to  you.  Oh,  it 
is  beautiful !  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  !  Oh,  I  knew  you 
would  win ! " 

"  Have  I  won?  "  Guenn  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Are  you  mad?  "  laughed  Jeanne. 

"  It  is  fatigue.  She  must  have  one  swallow  of  grog,  — • 
no  more,"  Alain  said  authoritativel3\  "Jeanne,  you 
wait  here  with  her.     I  will  bring  it." 

' '  And  3^ou  can  wear  the  beautiful  silver  embroidery 
when  you  dance  at  the  next  Pardon." 

"I  shall  never  dance  again,"  Guenn  repeated  with 
a  pitiful  wail  in  her  voice. 

Patient  Jeanne  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Was  not 
Guenn  always  odd? 

But  Nannie,  who  unperceived  had  limped  up  to  them, 
stood  looking  at  his  sister,  nodding  his  head  in  slow, 
solemn  acquiescence,  not  with  his  mocking  air,  but  as 
if  something  akin  to  pity  were  stirring  in  his  ugly 
face. 

"O  Nannie!  O  Nannie  I"  Guenu  grasped  his  arms 
convulsively. 


304  GUENN'. 

"  Go  and  get  the  prize,"  said  the  boy  in  a  cart  tone. 
"All  the  fools  are  watching.     Go,  Guenn." 

She  obeyed.  White  and  listless  she  stood  again 
before  the  judges,  received  the  prize  and  her  friends' 
congratulations. 

"She's  done  up  this  time  in  spite  of  her  boasts," 
sneered  the  Trevignan  heiress. 

"It  was  too  long,"  answered  the  boatswain  of  the 
Merle  bluntly.  "  She  needn't  have  danced  so  long  to 
show  us  that  she 's  the  best  dancer,  as  she  is  the  pret- 
tiest lass  in  all  Cornouaille.  Every  man  with  eyes  in 
his  head  knows  thg,t," 

Loic  Nives  had  pulled  Rodellec's  sleeve  as  Guenn's 
imploring  gaze  sought  Hamor's  in  vain.  "Did  jo\i 
see?"  he  asked  in  a  jealous  whisper.  "Did  3^ou  see 
her  look  at  that  gars?" 

Rodellec  turned,  and  stared  with  evil  significance  in 
Nives' s  sullen  eyes.  "  What  I  want  to  know,"  and  an 
ugly  emphasis  fell  upon  each  word  with  which  the  father 
aspersed  his  child ,  "is  —  who  —  gave  —  her  —  her  — 
clothes  ?  " 

"  Curse  him !  "  Nives's  voice  trembled  with  rage  and 
hate. 

The  two  went  aside  and   spoke   low   together.     As 
they  turned  suddenly  they  almost  stumbled  over  Nannie. 
"Out  of  the   way!"   Rodellec    exclaimed   harshly. 
*'  Can't  I  move  without  having  you  on  my  heels?" 

"I'm  not  following  you,  not  you  —  not  you  —  " Nan- 
nie chanted  with  his  peculiar  stare  over  his  father's 
left  shoulder.     Then  he  had  made  his  way  to  his  sister. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  wi'estling-matches  that 
Hamor  was  again  near  Guenn.  Seeing  her,  he  said 
amiably  :  "  I  must  go  and  congratulate  my  httle  model, 
who  is  bursting  with  pride,  I  presume,  and  sighing  for 


GUENN.  305 

more  worlds  to  conquer.  She  would  never  forgive  me, 
if  I  should  fail  to  pay  my  respects  with  her  other 
swains." 

"  That  is  thoughtful,"  replied  the  Danish  girl  approv- 
ingly. "Please  tell  her  for  me  how  beautifully  she 
danced.  It  was  as  if  she  wore  Hans  Andersen's  Two 
Little  Dancing  Shoes." 

'-'-  Well,  Guenn,"  Hamor  said  heartily,  holding  out  his 
hand  with  a  smile,  "  this  is  the  happiest  day  of  your 
life,  I  suppose.    I  never  saw  anything  like  your  dancing." 

' '  Did  you  see  it  ? "  Guenn  was  looking  on  the 
ground,  drawing  figures  in  the  dust  with  her  foot. 

"See  it?  Of  course  I  saw  it.  Every  step.  I  was 
proud  of  you.     I  am  delighted  that  you  won." 

"Are  you  glad?"  looking  up  now  with  a  strange 
wistfulness,  and  speaking  very  gently.  This  was  what 
her  soul  had  craved,  but  it  came  too  late. 

' '  What  possesses  her  now  ?  "  Hamor  wondered.  ' '  Is 
it  the  sulks  or  the  reaction  ?  " 

"  Guenn,"  he  said,  in  his  most  fatherly  tone,  "  if  I 
were  you,  I  would  n't  stand  about  so  much.  I  would 
sit  down  and  rest,  and  eat  and  drink  something,  or 
you'll  be  fit  for  nothing  to-morrow,  you  know." 

She  smiled  bravely.  He  needed  her  still.  Our  pic- 
ture needed  her.     That  comfort  was  left. 

"  Thanks,  monsieur.  I  am  not  weary.  I  shall  look 
very  pretty  for  you  to-morrow.     Have  no  fear." 

Hamor  rejoined  his  friends,  stopping  suddenly  on  the 
way  to  sketch  Herve  Rodellec  and  Loic,  still  standing 
apart,  their  heads  together  in  sombre  talk.  "  Mischief 
brewing  for  somebody,  and  happily  a  good  genre  picture 
as  the}^  stand.  I  am  grateful  to  the  rascals  for  a  new 
idea  —  and  their  most  interesting  profiles,"  Hamor  went 
carelessly  on.     He  had  no  time  to  draw  Nannie,  who 

20 


306  GUENN. 

< 

lay  on  his  back  at  full  length  on  the  grass,  staring 
vaguely  up  at  the  sky.  Rodellec  spoke  to  him.  The 
boy,  muttering  to  himself,  did  not  answer.  Rodellec 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  took  the  precaution  to  in- 
crease the  distance  between  them.  Nannie  very  grad- 
ually lessened  it  without  changing  his  attitude,  or 
ceasing  his  incantations,  working  himself  along  the 
grass  in  complete  unconsciousness  of  all  mundane  things. 
Rodellec  lowered  his  voice.  But  Nannie  had  excellent 
ears.  "They  are  blasting  at  Trevignan,"  he  heard 
distinctly.  "  One  of  us,  with  a  good  horse,  can  manage 
it  in  two  hours."  "You,"  replied  Rodellec.  "They 
will  miss  you  less."  After  this,  Nannie  's  expression 
became  singularly  pure  and  rapt,  and  the  two  men  for- 
got him. 

There  was,  in  general,  an  abundance  of  rough  sport 
at  the  Pardon,  a  remarkable  misuse  of  muscle,  an  enor- 
mous waste  of  brute  force  in  unscientific  trials  of 
strength.  The  strangers,  however,  found  the  vigorous 
wrestling  worth  watching,  even  with  a  certain  enthusi- 
asm. A  famous  Scaer  wrestler  threw  every  adversary 
flat  upon  the  turf,  almost  with  a  touch,  and  won  the 
plaudits  of  the  whole  dense  ring  of  spectators,  standing 
in  a  field  on  a  hill  overlooking  pretty  Nevin. 

Roused  to  unusual  interest  in  feats  of  strength,  and 
chatting  about  the  sport  of  various  lands,  the  paint- 
ers, with  the  crowd,  strolled  down  to  the  village. 
"These  fellows  have  enormous  strength,"  Hamor  was 
saying,  "buthalfof  it  goes  to  waste.  Now  look  there, — 
not  a  man  has  raised  that  weight  to  the  highest  point. 
I  '11  bet  a  hat  1  can  do  it,  and  the  fact  is  I  have  n't  much 
muscle." 

"  Done  !"  said  Staunton,  comparing  Hamor 's  slender 
frame  with  the  stalwart  sailors  standing  near. 


GUENN.  307 

Hamor  laughed.     ' '  I  had  no  intention  of  competing." 

"  Oh  do,"  said  the  Danish  girl.  "  I  really  wish  you 
would." 

"  In  that  case,"  began  Hamor  gallantly,  and  stepped 
forward  among  the  men.  Some  one  was  swinging  the 
heavy  mallet  as  he  drew  near.  Up  flew  the  measure  of 
the  blow,  not  reaching  the  highest  figure  but  approach- 
ing it.  "That's  the  highest  mark  reached  to-day," 
said  the  crowd,  and  Herve  Rodellec,  well  pleased  and 
boastful,  began  to  explain  his  peculiar  system  to  his 
friends. 

"  Allow  me,"  Hamor  said  civilly,  taking  the  mallet 
from  Rodehec  's  hand.  He  had  the  advantage  of  height, 
and  throwing  his  arm  well  back,  with  no  preliminary 
swings  and  flourishes,  he  struck  a  good  straight  blow 
which  sent  the  iron  ringing  to  the  top,  where  it  rested 
suspended  a  moment  before  falling. 

"Ah!  ah!"  cried  the  bystanders.  "Come  now, 
Rodellec,  beat  that !  " 

"  Oh,  it  requires  no  strength,"  Hamor  said  amiably. 

Rodellec  snatched  the  mallet  from  his  hand,  and,  trem- 
bling with  rage,  struck  again.  The  iron  rose  but  half 
way.  Again  and  again  he  tried,  but  he  was  too  angry 
to  direct  his  blow.  His  friends  laughed  and  jeered,  as 
friends  are  wont  to  do  when  one  fails  in  one's  speci- 
alty, while  Hamor  carelessly  turned  away  and  went 
on  with  his  party  to  other  joys  of  the  Pardon. 

Poor  Guenn  was  longing  for  the  quiet  ateher.  How 
glad  she  should  be  to  begin  work  again  to-morrow! 
Pleasure  was  cruel  pain  she  found.  Weary  and  sick 
at  heart,  she  wandered  about  wherever  Jeanne  led  the 
way.  For  once,  the  passive  little  friend  was  the  mov- 
ing spirit.  .  "  She 's  that  proud,"  commented  the  jealous 
girls,  "nothing's  good   enough  for  her  now,  after  the 


308  GUENN. 

two  prizes.  Look  at  her  airs  !  An3'body  would  think 
she  was  madame  the  countess,  at  the  old  chateau,  —  so 
weary  and  languid-like  !  " 

"  Guenn  !  "  and  Mother  Quaper  drew  near  the  3'oung 
girl,  decorated  with  her  silver  chain,  her  package  of  sil- 
ver embroidery  thrust  indifferentl}^  under  her  arm,  — 
*'  Guenn,"  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  stiffen  !  Before  the 
world  starch  is  the  word.  Don't  be  flabb}".  Whatever 
is  the  matter  with  3^ou,  let  your  feelings  soak  at  home, 
and  starch  them  stiff  before  the  world." 

"  Who  cares  ?  "  said  Guenn  drearil}^,  but  straightened 
herself  a  little  nevertheless. 

"  Walk  about.  Laugh.  Make  jokes.  Don't  be  limp. 
Be  starchy.  Make  the  girls  mad.  And  don't  let  him 
see  you  hanging  3'our  head." 

To  these  words  of  worldl3"  wisdom,  which  in  substance 
might  have  been  spoken  in  the  highest  societ3^,  Guenn 
responded  with  a  startled,  "  Him?     Who?" 

"Bless  3^our  heart,  I  don't  know,"  chuckled  Mother 
Quaper  ;  "  but  some  good-for-nothing  gars,  sure  enough. 
One  o'  these  da3's  3^ou  '11  find  out  what  a  fool  3'ou  were 
to  fret  about  him.  Every  woman  finds  that  out  sooner 
or  later.  But  to-da3^,  take  m3"  advice,  or  you  're  not  the 
girl  I  think  3^ou  are.     Stiffen  !  stiffen  !  " 

Difficult  as  it  is  for  a  girl  in  love  to  take  an3"  advice 
whatever,  this  stirring  appeal  to  Guenn' s  pride  was  not 
without  effect.  She  was  already  beginning  to  stiffen 
ver3''  creditabl3^,  when  Nannie  stood  at  her  elbow. 

"Come  into  the  church  as  soon  as  he's  gone  for  a 
drink.  Don't  let  him  see,"  he  said.  He  was  for  the 
moment  a  clever,  energetic  bo3^,  with  something  practi- 
cal on  his  mind.  No  weird  murmurings  and  upturned 
e3^es  detracted  from  the  directness  of  his  manner.  He 
was  gone  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come. 


GUENN,  309 

Kodellec  soon  afforded  his  children  the  opportunity 
for  the  desired  interview.  Guenn  stole  first  into  the 
empt}^  church.  It  was  so  still  there  she  would  have 
found  it  restful  to  remain.     Nannie  followed. 

"Well?"  said  Guenn. 

"  I  can't  stay  a  minute.  I  must  be  down  there  when 
he  comes  out."  He  then  made  a  communication  which 
roused  Guenn  like  an  electric  shock. 

"  The  cowards  !  "  she  exclaimed  angril3\ 

"  Do  what  you  please,  only  don't  make  a  fuss,"  said 
the  boy  with  a  philosophical  air. 

"There's  the  chief  of  the  police,"  began  Guenn, 
speaking  rapidly,  her  languor  gone,  her  face  keenly 
intelligent. 

"  But  no  one  must  see  you  speak  to  him." 

"  Of  course,  of  course  !  "  she  said  hurriedly. 

"  And  he  must  promise  not  to  know  who  did  it." 

"  No,  no  ;  we  can't  tell  of  him.  But  oh,  the  cowards, 
the  cowards  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  fierce  scorn.  "  Go, 
Nannie.     Hurry  back.     You  are  an  angel." 

"  Remember  —  no  fuss  !  "  rejoined  Nannie. 

When  Rodellec,  refreshed,  reappeared  on  the  village 
street,  Guenn's  angel  sat  at  the  door  where  the  father 
had  left  him,  still  repeating  his  weird  cadences,  elbows 
on  his  knees,  head  on  his  hands,  shrewd  ej^es  half  closed  ; 
and  Guenn  was  singing  loud  with  the  other  girls,  her 
spirited  head  nodding  the  time,  her  laughter  between 
the  stanzas  as  gay  as  ever.  If  it  was  a  little  too  gay  to 
be  quite  natural,  no  one  was  so  h3'percritical  as  to  notice 
that.  The  Merle  sailors  thronged  about  her.  She  had 
a  saucj^  word  for  each,  and  queened  it  with  a  charming 
tyranny.  Hamor,  passing,  glanced  at  her  and  smiled. 
"  Little  coquette  !  How  she  revels  in  it !  But  one  thing 
is   sure :    lovely  as  she  is  in  repose,  she  i^  infinitely 


310  GUENN, 

more  beautiful  in  action.  While  I  live  I  never  expect 
to  see  such  a  play  of  emotion  on  a  girl's  face,  —  such 
warmth,  such  superb  color,  such  tenderness  of  outline. 
I  wonder  if  a  refined  woman  ever  had  all  that. 
Scarcely  possible,"  he  concluded;  "there's  too  much 
individuaUty  there  for  civilization." 

The  ga3^est  and  most  gallant  of  the  Merle  sailors 
walked  proudly  b}^  her  side.  She  had  no  wish  to  hurt 
her  trust}^  Alain  ;  but  when  the  heart  is  fall  of  anxiety 
and  excitement,  and  one  must  talk  and  laugh  and  con- 
ceal one's  pain  from  the  world,  strangers  are  better 
company  than  old  friends.  With  a  friend  one  grows 
absent,  confesses  one's  weakness,  and  forgets  one's  role  ; 
while  with  the  stranger,  with  whom  one  has  no  past,  it 
is  easier  to  seem  to  live  in  the  present.  Mother  Quaper, 
watching  Guenn's  strained  mirth,  felicitated  herself  upon 
her  cleverness  and  the  3^oung  girl's  quick  response ; 
while  old  Andre  was  fully  convinced  that  he  had  at  last 
discovered  her  secret.  This  then  was  the  man  for  whom 
she  had  cut  off  her  curly  locks.  "  A  handsome  gars,  to 
be  sure,  with  a  merry  eye  and  a  straight  leg,"  mused 
the  old  stage-driver.  "But  she'd  better  take  a  Plou- 
venec  man.  Fond  of  a  lass,  fond  of  his  glass,  and  has 
landed  in  many  ports.  H'm !  Alain 's  better  for  the 
girl.  When  the  other  one  sails  away,  she  '11  listen  to 
reason.  Ah,  these  girls,  these  girls,  how  little  they  sus- 
pect that  an  old  fellow  like  me  sees  through  all  the 
flutterings  of  their  kerchiefs,  deep  into  their  foolish  little 
hearts  !  " 

Guenn  went  bravelj^  on  through  the  long  day.  From 
the  moment  she  left  the  church  her  brilliant  spirits 
never  flagged.  Her  successes  fixed  themselves  tena- 
ciously in  the  memory  of  the  people,  while  the  tempo- 
rary depression,  not  unreasonably  ascribed  to  physical 


GUENN.  3il 

fatigue,  was  now  quite  forgotten.  Yet  beneath  lier 
caprices  and  bewitctiing  nonsense  her  heart  was  asking 
wearily,  "  Will  evening  never  come?  "  It  seemed  3'ears 
to  her  since  the  bright  morning,  when,  full  of  tremulous 
happiness,  she  had  come  forth  to  conquer.  Uncivilized 
as  Hamor  considered  her,  she  had  been  acting  her 
part  like  a  trained  woman  of  the  world.  New  powers 
were  awakening  within  her.  It  was  a  day  of  lost  illu- 
sions and  misery,  yet  she  was  jesting  still,  as  she  drove 
back  to  Plouvenec  in  the  haj^-cart,  and  as  they  all 
stopped  and  touched  the  trembling-stone  in  the  twilight, 
and  filled  the  silent  fields  with  laughter.  Unperceived 
she  put  both  hands  to  her  head.  "  I  am  old,"  she  sighed. 
"I  have  grown  so  old  to-day  I  shall  never  be  3'oung 
again.  But  there  is  still  something  to  do,  —  something 
to-night,  to-morrow,  for  many  days.  If  only  to-morrow 
would  come  and  make  me  forget  to-day  !  " 

Plouvenec  was  rougher  and  noisier  than  usual  that 
night,  crowded  with  people  who  had  gathered  from  far 
and  near  to  go  to  the  Nevin  Pardon.  Many  would 
not  return  to  their  villages  and  farms  until  the  next 
morning,  but  remained  to  prolong  at  Plouvenec  the 
material  joys  of  Nevin.  Everywhere  was  incessant 
carousing.  On  the  common,  men  and  women  jostled 
against  one  another,  —  a  moving,  boisterous  mass,  — 
beside  the  immovable  mass  of  still,  dark  battlements 
on  the  little  island.  Salt  breezes  swept  in  from  the  sea 
to  cool  the  hot  heads  of  such  as  cared  to  bare  their 
throbbing  temples  and  receive  nature's  benign  cure. 
But  cider  and  grog  flowed  fast,  and  the  orange  flame, 
shining  through  the  glass  door,  drew  innumerable  vic- 
tims into  its  evil  glare. 

The  chief  of  the  police  placed  two  extra  gendarmes 
on  duty,  and  showed  his  own  mild  face  everywhere. 


312  GUENN. 

This  was  a  matter  of  form  which  he  observed  conscien- 
tiously. As  for  controlling  his  Breton  folk  after  a 
Pardon,  only  a  Breton  could  realize  the  absurdity  oi 
any  such  effort.  He  was  a  little  surprised  when,  after 
nine  o'clock,  Guenn  Rodellec  unceremoniously  pulled 
him  completely  into  shadow,  out  of  sight  and  hearing 
of  the  crowd. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  an  hour,  monsieur,"  she  said 
breathlessl}'.  ' '  I  wanted  to  speak  with  you  and  not  be 
geen." 

"  WeU,  what  is  it,  Guenn?" 

"I  know  something  that's  going  to  happen-,  you 
must  stop  it,  and  you  must  not  suspect  or  arrest  the 
men  who  do  it." 

' '  But  that  is  against  the  law  !  " 

"Never  mind  the  law;  that's  what  you  must  do," 
she  answered  shortly, —  "  no  more,  no  less." 

*'  Explain  what  you  mean." 

"  I  shall  explain  nothing  whatever  until  you  prom- 
ise." She  put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  stared  at  him 
obstinately. 

He  hesitated.     "  Is  it  something  really  bad?" 

"Very  bad." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  find  it  out  without  3'ou." 

"  Impossible  !     I  know  the  village  better  than  you." 

"  And  wh}"  can  3'ou  not  tell  me  ?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  then  seized  his  arms. 
"  Trust  me,  monsieur,"  she  said  impetuously,  "  I  know 
what  I  am  talking  about.  Give  me  your  promise. 
Let  me  tell  you  what  to  do.  Indeed,  I  know  Plouvenec 
better  than  you,  monsieur ;  you  yourself  have  no  doubt 
of  that." 

"  But  an  accessory  of  a  crime,"  began  the  young  man 
feebly. 


GUENN.  313 

"  Bah  !  The  men  a?e  the  same,  whether  thej^  do  this 
thing  or  not.  If  they  mean  to  do  a  bad  thing,  they  are 
as  bad  as  if  they  had  done  it.  You  can't  change  them, 
but  you  can  prevent  harm  to  others.  Will  3'ou,  or  will 
you  not?    If  you  will  not,  I  shall  go  to  some  one  else." 

He  began  to  suspect  who  one  at  least  of  the  culprits 
was.  "You  could  not  prevent  the  whole  thing  your- 
self? "  he  asked  cautiously. 

""Well  —  I  could — 3"es,"  she  answered  gloomily; 
"  but  it  would  be  bad  the  next  time  anything  is  brew- 
ing, you  know." 

He  felt  sorry  for  her.  Her  voice  sounded,  for  the 
moment,  weary  and  depressed ;  and  she  had  been  so 
beautiful  and  bright  all  day  at  the  Pardon,  and  had 
danced  so  divinel}^ 

"  Well?  "  she  inquired  with  impatience. 

"It's  terribly  out  of  order,  but  I'll  do  it,  since  it's 
you,  Guenn  Rodellec.     I  trust  you.     I  promise." 

She  shook  his  hand  warmly.  "  Good.  Now  Hsten  ! 
Two  men  will  try  to  set  fire  to  Morot's  granary  to-night. 
They  will  light  a  slow-match ;  run  to  the  shore,  where 
the  boat  that  brought  them  will  be  waiting  ;  come  round 
the  point,  land  again,  and  show  themselves  quite  harm- 
less and  respectable  to  their  friends  before  they  go 
home.  They  will  both  be  safe  in  their  beds  when  the 
fire  breaks  out.  The  slow-match  will  burn  an  hour. 
You  see  you  have  only  to  put  it  out.  That 's  the  be- 
ginning and  end  of  the  matter." 

"  I  see  ;  and  at  what  time? " 

"The  two  men  will  come  behind  the  granary  just 
before  twelve." 

"  I  will  be  on  the  spot  myself;  I  will  watch  them," 

"But  you  will  do  no  such  thing,"  said  the  girl 
impatiently.      "You  have  promised.      You  will  give 


314  GUENJSr. 

them  time  to  get  awa}^ ;  you  will  see  nobody ;  you  will 
know  nobod}'.  Don't  come  till  the}'  are  gone.  There 
is  no  danger  now  that  you  know  ;  you  will  have  oceans 
of  time." 

He  shook  his  head  in  doubt. 

"Don't  3'OU  see  I  can't  do  anything  else?  I  can't, 
I  can't,  I  can't !  "  she  cried  fiercel}',  forgetting  her 
caution. 

"Hush,  Guenn !  I  will  do  exactly  as  you  wish. 
No  one  else  knows  this,  besides  you  and  the  two 
men?  " 

"  Only  my  brother." 

"  It  would  be  a  bad  place  for  a  fire,  —  those  dry  build- 
ings, and  the  wheelwright's  workshop,  and  the  horses 
with  all  the  hay  and  straw,  and  madame  with  her  babies 
so  near." 

"  And  the  beautiful,  beautiful  paintings,  that  one 
works  upon  with  fine  little  touches  so  long,  and  that 
one  loves  so  dearly  !  Ah,  how  terrible  that  would  be  !  " 
clasping  her  hands. 

"  Ah  yes,  Monsieur  Hamor's  paintings,"  the  young 
man  said  innocently.  "  I  had  forgotten.  Good  !  We 
will  try  to  save  everything.  It  is  a  blessing  that  3'ou 
discovered  this,  for  there  's  scarcely  a  man  fit  to  hand  a 
bucket  to-night.     You  are  a  good  girl,  Guenn." 

"  That's  as  it  ma}'  be,"  she  returned  indiff'erently. 

' '  And  you  ?     You  will  not  be  watching  too  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  in  bed,  like  all  the  honest  people  who 
know  nothing  about  it,"  she  sneered. 

He  perceived  at  once  that  she  too  intended  to  be 
conspicuously  at  home.  "  It  was  the  right  thing  to 
come  to  me,"  looking  at  her  approving^.  "  You  are 
always  clever." 

''  Oh,  I  should  have  come  to  the  cur6  of  the  Lanrdons 


GUENN,  315 

if  he  had  been  here,"  she  answered  bluntly.  "  I  came 
to  3'ou  because  I  had  no  choice.    Good-night,  monsieur." 

"  Good-night,  Guenn." 

Suddenly  she  sprang  towards  him  again.  "Mon- 
sieur," she  said  in  an  eager  whisper,  "  if  jou  take  away 
every  trace  of  the  slow-match,  and  keep  quiet,  and 
never  let  on  that  you  suspect  anybody,  don't  you  see, 
it  will  be  the  surest  way  to  prevent  him  —  them  —  from 
trying  it  again  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he,  I  mean  the  men,  will  think  Morot's 
gliost "  —  she  crossed  herself  with  a  wholesome  respect 
for  the  revenant,  and  hoped  she  was  committing  no  sin 
in  dragging  his  influence  into  the  aflfair  —  ' '  watches  over 
the  place." 

"  True  enough,  Guenn.     I  never  thought  of  that." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Men  never  think  of 
anything  that  helps.  Now  mind  you  do  exactly  what 
I  teU  you." 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  the  chief  of  the  police 
meekly. 

She  went  swiftly  across  the  common.  The  girls  and 
sailors  called  to  her  to  stay  and  sing.  Their  screaming 
voices  jarred  upon  her.  She  did  not  answer.  Some  of 
them  seized  her.  "  Don't  be  proud,  Guenn,  if  you 
are  the  best  dancer,"  they  cried ,  laughing  and  pulling 
her  roughly  back.  "Stay  and  be  jolly!  We  sha'n't 
let  you  go,"  said  the  handsomest  Merle  sailor,  his  eyes 
heavy  with  grog. 

She  looked  at  their  faces  in  the  light  of  the  lantern, 
hanging  from  a  tree  and  swinging  in  the  wind.  The 
girls  were  hoydenish,  the  men  excited  and  flushed. 
They  were  quite  capable  of  detaining  her  in  rough  sport, 
and  she  wished  to  go  on.     The  boatswain  of  the  Merle 


316  GUENN. 

was  the  oldest  man  among  them,  and  had  the  kindest 
face.  With  a  clever  instinct  she  moved  so  that  her 
little  figure  stood  close  at  his  side,  and  her  charming 
face,  scarcely  reaching  his  shoulder,  looked  up  to  him  for 
protection. 

*'  Make  them  let  me  alone,"  she  said  simply.  *'  I  am 
tired.     I  want  to  go  home." 

She  did  not  need  to  ask  twice.  In  an  instant  the 
Bacchantes  were  flung  back  ;  and  the  girl,  with  neither 
thanks  nor  a  thought  for  her  rescuer,  ran  on. 

Crouching  by  the  glass  door,  where  the  orange  light 
streamed  out,  sat  Nannie.  As  his  sister  came  near, 
he  merely  raised  his  eyebrows. 

She  nodded  significantly;  then  said,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  anxiously  on  the  door,  "  Can  you  come  now?  " 

''I'm  to  wait  for  him.  He's  afraid  of  me.  He's 
afraid  I  heard.  He 's  afraid  I  '11  tell.  As  if  I  ever  teU  ! 
So  he  's  kept  me  near  him  all  day.  As  if  I  would  do 
him  any  harm !  Poor,  dear,  lame,  little  me ! "  In 
Nannie's  leer  was  a  world  of  malicious  triumph. 

"Well  then,  I'll  go.  I  wish  you  could  come  too, 
Nannie,"  she  added  gently. 

"  Can't ;  and  you  'd  better  shoot  along  pretty  fast,  — 
let  me  tell  you  that.  He  may  come  out  any  time. 
He's  only  pretending  to  drink, — no  more  drunk  than 
I  am,"  chuckled  the  cripple. 

Guenn  turned  to  go  ;  then  suddenly  in  a  low  voice  -• 
*' You  were  always  the  best  boy  that  ever  lived,  Nannie 
Rodellec,  the  very  most  splendid  boy,  —the  best  brother 
that  ever  a  girl  had,"  she  began  ;  "but  what  you  have 
done  to-day,  well"—  She  pulled  at  her  apron;  her 
face,  pale  from  weariness,  began  to  flush ;  bold  Guenn 
stammered,  trembled,  and  found  no  words. 

"  You  go  home,"  returned  Nannie,  nodding  his  head 


GUENN.  317 

slowly  and  looking  at  her  with  half-closed  eyes.  *'  Girls 
are  fools,  awful  fools." 

Guenn  avoided  the  centre  of  the  noisy  common,  steal- 
ing along  in  the  shadow  on  its  farther  side  by  the 
water.  She  stood  a  moment  within  sight  of  the  window 
of  an  upper  room  in  the  Grand  Hotel,  where  the  three 
painters  often  played  whist  with  a  friend.  She  had 
seen  them  enter  the  inn  early  this  evening.  Now  a 
tall  shadow  appeared  on  the  curtain.  She  chose  to 
think  it  was  Hamor's,  and  went  home  the  dark  lonely 
road  a  little  happier  for  the  thought. 

All  her  senses  were  on  the  alert.  Never  had  she 
more  clearly  heard  the  grass  and  herbs  growing,  and 
the  trees  stretching  themselves.  She  saw  strange  fig- 
ures flitting  about  the  great  menhir,  and  moving  things 
along  the  fosses.  Crossing  herself  mechanically,  she 
went  her  way  undaunted  and  undisturbed,  keenly  con- 
scious of  the  supernatural  world,  but  not  fearing  it  for 
herself.  "I  never  trouble  them.  Why  should  they 
trouble  me  !  "  she  thought.  "  And  warnings  only  come 
from  one's  own  people.  One's  neighbors'  ghosts  have 
enough  to  do  to  attend  to  their  own  affairs."  She 
reached  the  dark  house,  and  crept  into  her  bed.  Her 
brain  was  on  fire.  Her  body  seemed  to  find  nothing 
to  support  it.  Even  lying  at  rest,  she  felt  herself 
always  sinking,  as  if  the  bed  and  the  floor  and  the 
cottage  were  falling  into  fathomless  depths.  "He 
told  me  to  eat.  If  I  eat  I  may  be  prettier  to-morrow." 
She  rose  wearily,  drank  some  milk,  and  ate  a  bit  of 
crepe. 

When  her  father  and  Nannie  came  home,  Rodellec 
saw  her  lying  in  apparently  gentle  sleep ;  her  dark 
lashes  did  not  quiver  as  he  held  his  candle  up  suspi- 
ciously.    But  as  soon  as  b^  was  gone  she  opened  her 


318  GUENN, 

eyes  and  stared  into  the  darkness  many  hours,  not 
tossing  restlessl}',  but  alwa3^s  with  the  strange  sinking 
feehng  which  sometimes  follows  great  mental  excite- 
ment. And  alwaj^s  she  saw  the  Nevin  crowd,  and 
Hamor's  face  turned  away  from  her.  "If  he  would 
look  at  me  just  once,  I  think  I  could  go  to  sleep.  I 
must  sleep,  for  I  must  be  pretty  to-morrow.  Why  can 
I  not  sleep,  when  the  beautiful  pictures  are  safe?  He 
loves  them  so.  He  works  so  hard  on  them."  She 
grasped  the  old  walnut  bedstead  to  keep  herself  from 
sinking. 

That  night  nothing  disastrous  happened  in  Plouvenec. 
About  twelve  o'clock  two  men  landed  softl}'  at  a 
point  on  the  shore  not  far  from  Morot's  graucir}^,  stole 
through  the  dark  lane  behind  it,  stooped  and  whispered 
together,  remained  but  a  few  moments  and  went  as 
stealthily  as  they  had  come.  When  the  gentle  plash 
of  their  oars  was  heard  again,  a  small  man,  concealed 
behind  an  adjacent  house,  who,  whatever  his  unavoida- 
ble surmises  must  have  been,  had  scrupulously  refrained 
from  any  endeavor  to  penetrate  their  incognito,  walked 
quietly  from  his  ambush  and  put  his  foot  on  a  tiny 
spark  creeping  slowly  along  the  grass. 

"  Pretty  little  Guenn,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  smile. 
"She's  a  good  girl.  She  ought  to  be  satisfied  now. 
And  queer  as  it  is,  I  'm  happier  than  if  I  had  to  arrest 
old  Rodellec  and  Loic  Nives.  Of  course  it's  Nives. 
Clever  little  girl,  good  little  girl.  She  does  n't  seem 
to  have  much  of  an  opinion  of  me." 

The  chief  of  the  police  sighed,  and  went  home  re- 
membering Guenn's  beautiful  eyes. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 


N  an  old  scow,  which  Guenn 
kept  well  in  position  before 
the  ferry,  Hamor  was  now 
working  mornings.  He  drew 
the  walls  and  battlements, 
the  gateway  and  the  rocks ; 
then,  in  the  ateUer,  made 
many  sketches  of  Guenn 
swinging  the  great  oar,  and 
half  a  dozen  ebauches,  large 
and  small,  before  he  was 
satisfied  with  his  conception.  His  whole  guard,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  always  escorted  him, — Jeanne 
knitting  in  comfortable  unconsciousness  of  the  forces  at 
work  near  her ;  Nannie,  silent  hour  after  hour,  observ- 
ant, mahcious,  impenetrable,  his  pale  face  wearing  its 
strange  air  of  expectancy.  The  people  who  came  and 
went  continually  across  the  ferry  saw  only  a  painter 
scowling  at  his  work,  a  boat  moored  some  distance  out, 
a  girl  holding  it  against  the  current,  some  children  in 
the  stern.  The  painters  were  always  making  pictures 
of  those  old  gray  walls.  Surely  the  Plouvenec  church, 
new  and  painted  white,  was  prettier,  thought  the  peas- 
ants and  sailors.  But  even  they  would  have  been 
satisfied  with  Hamor's  choice  had  they  known  that  the 


320  GUENN. 

most  charming  thing  in  the  village,  Guenn  Rodellec 
herself,  with  all  her  strength  and  grace  and  beaut}^  and 
freshness,  was  to  illumine  the  canvas  like  sunlight 
falling  warmly  upon  the  cold  stone  of  the  fortress. 

Hamor  —  having  at  last,  after  his  many  studies,  re- 
solved upon  his  composition  — was  working  busil}',  in  his 
floating  atelier,  painting  the  frowning  old  battlements. 
The  vein  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead,  tacitly  recognized 
b}'  his  vassals  as  a  danger-signal,  was  invisible.  He 
and  the  girls  grew  social,  while  the  spirit  of  the  ancient 
Breton  bard  stirred  in  Nannie's  ambitious  heart.  "If 
I  lived  b}'  the  Raz,  I  would  row  a  boat  full  of  souls  — 
souls,  souls,"  he  chanted. 

"  That  would  be  easy  work,  Nannie.  Souls  must  be 
hght  freight." 

"  Oh  no,  monsieur,"  cried  Guenn.  "  Indeed  they  are 
not." 

"Well,  I  can't  say  I  know  much  about  them,"  he 
answered  smiling. 

"You  are  a  fisherman,"  —  she  began  impressively. 
"  You  are  sleeping  in  your  cottage  on  the  shore  of  the 
Raz.  At  midnight  3^ou  hear  a  knock.  You  rise.  You 
open  the  door.  No  one  is  there.  You  go  down  to  the 
water.  There  is  a  strange  boat.  You  see  no  one. 
But  the  boat  is  so  loaded  it  can  scarcely  float.  You 
row  it  across.  It  is  so  heavy,  3'ou  can  hardly  row. 
Yet  in  an  hour  you  take  the  boat  farther  than  yow  could 
by  yourself  in  a  whole  night.  You  are  deathly  cold. 
You  hear  moans  and  wails  and  gnashing  of  teeth  and 
grinding  of  bones.  And  always  the  boat  grows  heavier, 
—  heavier  with  souls." 

"  With  souls  —  souls  —  souls,"  cried  Nannie. 
"  It  would  be  a  most  impracticable  business  for  me," 
Hamor  remarked  gravely.     "In  the  first  place,  I  am  a 


GUENN.  321 

man  who  needs  considerable  sleep.  Then  your  descrip- 
tion suggests  no  motives  for  pictures.  I  think  I  will 
not  at  once  decide  to  become  a  Raz  fisherman.  Paint- 
ing has  its  disadvantages  ;  still,  upon  the  whole" — he 
was  speaking  slowly,  painting  something  that  required 
care ,  —  "  rowing  souls  about  for  pastime  —  "  He  forgot 
what  he  was  about  to  say,  stopped  absently,  losing 
himself  in  his  work. 

Watching  the  painter  closely,  Nannie  broke  into  a 
free,  loud  laugh,  checked  himself  suddenly ,  and  assumed 
his  solemn  mask. 

"  Well?  "  Hamor  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  them. 
"  What  were  we  talking  about?  Oh  yes,  souls  !  Now, 
Guenn,  what  made  the  souls  so  heavy?  " 

"  Sins." 

''  Indeed.  What  do  you  suppose  the  very  heaviest 
one  had  done,  the  one  that  weighed  a  ton,  for  in- 
stance ?  " 

"  Betrayed  his  friend,"  repUed  the  young  girl 
promptly,  a  fine  scorn  curving  her  lips. 

"  His  friend?     Suppose  it  were  a  she.'' 

*' Meme  chose,"  said  Guenn.  "His  friend  or  her 
friend.     It 's   all  the  same.     It's  the  worst  sin." 

*'  What  is  the  next  worst?  " 

' '  For  a  girl  ?  To  be  fiancee  three  times  without 
marrying." 

Hamor  laughed  heartily. 

"  If  you  are  a  girl,  and  are  fiancee  three  times  with- 
out marrying,  you  will  burn  in  heU,"  Guenn  remarked 
with  immovable  conviction. 

"Is  that  true?" 

"  Oh,  there  's  nothing  truer  than  that,"  she  answered 
emphaticall3\ 

"  It  seems  an  altogether  proper  punishment,"  he  said 
21 


322  GUENN. 

soberl}',  ' '  but  I  think  it  is  not  generally  anticipated  in 
my  country.     I  don't  think  our  girls  know  it." 

*' They'd  better!  "  Guenn  said  bluntly.  "You'd 
better  tell  them." 

"  I  will,"  returned  Hamor  gravely  ;  "  I  will  certainly 
mention  it." 

He  was  painting  successfully.  This  weather  suited 
him.  Soon  he  could  have  Guenn  pose  at  the  islands. 
He  whistled  cheerfullj'.  It  was  amusing,  working  in 
an  old  scow,  and  listening  to  her  naive  theories  of 
sin  and  retribution.  The  girl  had  a  fair  amount  of 
rough  honesty  in  her  composition,  —  good  clean  ideas 
which  an}^  girl  might  be  proud  of.  How  sensibly  she 
was  behaving  too  ;  how  helpful  she  was.  He  liked  her 
very  much  at  this  moment,  and  amiabl}"  desired  to  give 
her  a  pleasure. 

"  Guenn,"  he  said  kindly,  "  when  3'ou  are  fiancee, 
and  I  am  sure  that  will  be  but  once,  I  will  give  you  a 
beautiful  present." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  little  Jeanne  rapturously.  Guenn 
leaned  on  her  oar,  and  looked  at  him. 

"  And  3^ou  too,  Jeanne,"  added  Hamor. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Jeanne  again. 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  what  yovi  want,  of  course,  and 
who  the  luck}^  gars  is." 

"  Of  course,"  assented  Jeanne. 

' '  And  whether  you  would  like  something  for  your 
house  or  something  to  wear,  —  your  wedding  gown  for 
instance?  " 

"  Guenn,  would  you  like  monsieur  to  give  you  3'our 
wedding  gown?  "  demanded  Jeanne,  nudging  her  friend 
with  an  eager  elbow. 

"There's  time  enough,  monsieur,"  muttered  Guenn. 
With  the  effort  to  conceal  her  pain,  her  face  grew 
sullen. 


GUENN,  323 

•'Cunous  temper,"  thought  Hamor,  "unaccounta- 
ble !  One  would  suppose  she  would  be  rather  more 
gracious  under  the  circumstances." 

"Oh  well,  arrange  it  to  suit  yourselves,"  he  said  care- 
lessly. "When  the  happ}^  time  comes,  write  me  a  let- 
ter, and  I'll  send  you  anything,  to  the  half  of  my 
kingdom." 

"  Jeanne  will  have  her  gars  and  her  wedding  gown," 
Nannie  began  solemnly,  "but  Guenn  wears  the  mark 
of  Saint  Divy." 

"  Who  in  the  world  is  he,  and  what  is  his  mark?  " 

"  Saint  Divy,  the  son  of  Saint  Nonne  ;  "  and  Nannie 
pointed  with  a  crooked  finger  to  a  blue  line  between  the 
eyebrows,  visible  on  his  own  face  as  on  his  sister's. 
"Early  death,  early  death,"  he  said  in  his  singing 
voice. 

Strong  as  were  Guenn's  fatalism  and  superstition, 
she  alwa3's  felt  a  curious  objection  to  the  popular 
interpretation  of  this  little  blue  line.  Her  great  vitality 
seemed  to  protest  against  being  summarily  reduced  to 
nothingness  by  such  a  trifle.  "  What  is  young?  What 
is  old  ? "  she  said  with  a  shrug,  flushing  a  little  and 
looking  somewhat  defiant.  "  There  is  old  Josephe. 
She  has  the  blue  line  too." 

"  But  she  prayed.  Saint  Divy  will  come  to  your  aid 
if  you  pray  enough,"  Jeanne  explained.  "  Nannie,  if 
you  would  sing  less  and  pray  more,"  she  added  in  her 
sensible  fashion,  "  you  could  arrange  things  very  nicely 
with  Saint  Divy.  He  is  not  at  all  disobliging.  You 
know  3^ou  have  more  time  to  pray  than  Guenn  ;  one  can- 
not expect  Guenn  to  pray  much." 

"  Early  death,  early  death,"  persisted  the  boy,  rolling 
up  his  eyes. 

"  Come,  come,  Nannie,"  said  Hamor,  "don't  be  so 


324  GUENN. 

gloomy.  You  '11  give  us  all  the  blue-devils,  with  youi 
blue-Di\^  croakings.  I  must  say,  I  don't  think  Divy 
is  a  pious  name  for  a  saint.  But  if  he  painted  those 
violet  tones  round  Guenn's  eyes,  he  was  a  man  of  taste, 
and  I  respect  him.  And  we  '11  all  pra}^  to  him  as  hard 
as  we  can,  so  that  he  will  leave  us  Guenn  and  her  beau- 
tiful e3'es  manj"  a  long  j'ear.  What  should  we  all  do, 
indeed,  without  Guenn?  What  would  the  picture  do?  '^ 
he  said  in  the  kindest  voice,  with  an  affectionate  glance 
at  her. 

A  moment  before,  she  felt  the  strange  pain  and  hope- 
lessness which  she  had  never  known  until  monsieur  had 
come  into  her  life,  and  which  a  smiling  word  of  his,  in 
his  happiest  mood,  could  so  suddenly  and  cruelly  con- 
jure up.  Sweethearts  and  wedding  gowns !  Well, 
why  should  he  not  speak  of  them?  Yet  his  idle,  kindly 
talk  cut  her  to  the  heart.  The  thought  of  an}^  closer 
relationship  than  that  in  which  she  now  served  and 
worshipped  him  had  never  entered,  could  by  no  possi- 
bilit}"  enter,  her  mind.  But  living  in  him  and  for  him, 
with  all  the  passionate  force  of  her  nature,  she  was 
equally  incapable  of  grasping  the  idea  of  a  life  where 
he  was  not.  She  knew  as  a  remote  matter  of  fact, 
that  he  was  going  away.  She  did  not  actuallj^  realize 
that  he  was  going,  —  except  now  and  then  for  one  cruel 
moment,  as  now,  when  he  had  spoken  of  the  wedding 
gown. 

Not  alone  his  light  suggestion  of  separation  and 
absence  caused  that  sickening  despair  to  over-master 
her,  but  a  vague  yet  painful  consciousness  of  the  gulf 
between  them,  over  which  he  smiled  at  her,  and  gaj'ly 
flung  his  gifts  and  pleasant  words.  Fierce  jealousy  of 
the  unknown  future,  and  the  influences  which  would 
draw   him   from   her  ;    unconscious    rebellion    against 


GUENN,  325 

the  incongruity  of  the  situation ;  a  perfectly  womanly 
longing  to  be  more  to  him,  to  do  more  for  him,  met 
always  by  his  disappointing  elusiveness  which  might 
grieve  even  a  woman  of  his  own  class,  —  such  emotions 
swept  through  her  heart  with  stormy  violence.  With  a 
word  he  could  rouse  the  tempest.  With  a  word  he  could 
still  it.  She  never  knew  why  she  was  miserable  or 
happy :  she  could  not  have  explained  why  she  resented 
his  careless  bestowal  of  her,  in  fancy,  upon  another 
man,  —  his  marrying  her  off  and  gayly  decking  her  with 
bridal  finery.  She  only  knew  the  pain  was  gone.  Our 
picture !  How  she  loved  it.  She  smiled  and  colored 
brilliantly  under  Hamor's  glance,  moved  the  oar  gently 
to  and  fro,  and  looked  at  the  canvas  sweetly,  as  a  young 
mother  looks  at  her  little  child  —  protecting,  tender,  with 
rapt  wonder  and  infinite  devotion. 

*'  It  's  worth  while  irritating  her  a  little,  if  only  to  see 
how  beautiful  she  is  when  she  softens  again,"  Hamor 
reflected.  "  The  fact  is,  I  am  too  apt  to  forget  that 
freak  of  hers.  She  is  obstinate  when  I  speak  of  going 
away.  She  likes  to  pretend  I  am  going  to  stay  forever. 
Well,  if  she  chooses  to  be  an  ostrich,  and  bury  her  head 
in  the  sand,  I  can't  help  it.  All  women  do  it."  He 
whistled  softly,  and  looked  critically  at  his  work.  Nan- 
nie was  crooning  something  about  a  tall  man,  dark, 
thin  and  pale,  walking  through  a  bog  and  followed  by  a 
black  dog.  Hamor  discovered  finally  that  he  was 
listening  to  a  curious  Breton  version  of  the  story  of 
Abelard  and  Heloise,  —  the  unfortunate  Heloise  figuring 
as  a  magician  or  witch,  making  strange  compacts  with 
the  powers  of  nature  like  an  ancient  Druidess,  and 
assuming  at  will  the  form  of  a  black  dog,  a  crow,  a 
dragon,  or  a  firefly.  When  the  two  weird  companions 
appeared,  a  storm  followed. 


326  GUENN. 

'*  They  did  raise  rather  a  storm,"  said  Hamor. 

"  They  were  sweethearts,"  Nannie  suddenly  an- 
nounced, deigning  to  assume  an  unm3'stic  tone. 

"He  must  rest  now  and  then,  the  little  farceur," 
Hamor  reflected,  "it's  amusing  to  see  him  slip  out  of 
his  role." 

"  I  would  like  to  be  a  sweetheart  if  I  could  change 
myself  into  a  black  dog.  I  must  learn  that,"  Nannie 
added  gravely. 

"Yes,  you  must,"  rejoined  Hamor. 

"  I  would  like  to  be  a  sweetheart  like  Mr.  Staun- 
ton's," said  Jeanne. 

' '  Does  that  mean  you  would  like  to  be  Mr.  Staunton's 
sweetheart?"  Hamor  asked,  smiling. 

"Mon  dieu  —  no,"  cried  Jeanne,  abashed. 

"  Mr.  Staunton  is  not  a  bad  fellow,"  Guenn  re- 
marked gravel}'. 

"  Thanks.     I  will  tell  him  yon  think  so." 

"  I  have  often  told  him  myself,"  Guenn  replied  care- 
lessly. "  I  have  told  him  I  like  him  a  little,  not  much 
indeed,  and  that  I  don't  Hke  Monsieur  Douglas  at  all." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  don't  like  him.  It  is  easy  to 
know  whom  you  like  ;  it  is  not  easy  to  know  why." 

"  But  Douglas  is  kind  to  3'ou,  Guenn." 

"I  know  it.  But  I  don't  like  him.  One  doesn't 
like  people  because  they  are  kind,  or  dishke  them  be- 
cause the}^  are  unkind." 

"Some  do." 

"I  don't." 

"  I  am  sure  Jeanne  does,  for  instance."  Hamor  smiled 
at  the  gentle  Httle  face,  undisturbed  by  any  strong 
feeling. 

"  Yes,  monsieur.  I  always  like  people  who  are 
kind,"  she  answered  demurely. 


GUENIT.  327 

"And  if  I  don't  like  them,"  Guenn  began  in  her 
emotional,  magnetic  waj^  her  head  erect,  her  eyes  glow- 
ing, "  they  may  rain  louis  d'or  on  me,  or  weep  and 
beg  and  crawl  at  my  feet ;  they  may  smile  hke  God's 
angels,  sail  round  the  whole  great  world  to  please 
me,  reach  up  to  heaven  and  give  me  a  shining  star,  and 
be  kind  —  oh,  kind  as  the  kindest,  —  and  still  I  don't 
like  them,  if  I  don't !  " 

"And  if  3'ou  do,  Guenn?"  Hamor  said  gently, 
turning  and  looking  over  his  shoulder,  straight  into 
her  eyes. 

"And  if  I  do,"  —  her  voice,  before  arrogant  and 
audacious,  fell  to  a  low  passionate  tone,  —  "and  if  I 
do  —  they  may  hurt  me,  hate  me,  beat  me,  starve  me, 
kill  me  —  and  still  I  like  them,  if  I  do  !  " 

"  Whom  do  you  like  in  that  way,  Guenn?  "  asked  the 
painter.  He  meant  no  harm  in  obeying  the  caprice  of 
the  moment.  Where  so  much  feeling  was  freely  prof- 
fered, what  man  would  resist  playing  with  it? 

Guenn  trembled.  His  eyes  were  seeking  hers.  His 
words  were  sweet  to  her  soul.  The  fascination  of  his 
great  gentleness  was  irresistible,  and  when  he  spoke 
so  tended}',  she  could  have  fallen  and  covered  his  feet 
with  kisses.  But  nearer  her,  peering  up  into  her  face, 
with  a  searching,  largely  intelligent,  commanding  look, 
was  the  pale,  wizened  humpback.  To  him  too  her 
great  heart  responded  with  unspeakable  affection.  A 
maidenly  instinct  caused  her,  a  beautiful  color  waver- 
ing in  her  cheeks,  to  turn  slightly  from  the  painter. 
Stretching  out  her  hand  towards  her  brother,  she  re- 
garded Hamor  with  a  certain  appealing  and  pathetic 
dignit3\     "  My  Nannie,"  she  answered  softly. 

This  was  not  what  Hamor  had  expected,  but  he 
admired  her  very  much. 


328  GUENK 

"  Girls  are  fools,"  remarked  Nannie  curtly,  '<  awful 
fools." 

Guenn  merely  smiled  in  response. 

"  When  is  Monsieur  Staunton  going  to  marry  his 
sweetheart?"  began  Jeanne's  tranquil  voice,  her 
thoughts  fixed  upon  practical  things. 

"Soon,  I  believe,"  Hamor  replied;  "next  month." 

"  And  she  paints  pictures  too,  does  n't  she  ?  '* 

"Yes." 

"  And  will  they  both  paint  pictures  after  they  are 
married?"  inquired  Jeanne,  laughing,  apparently  find- 
ing something  delightful^  droll  in  the  idea. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  who  will  cook  and  take  care  of  the  babies?  " 

Hamor  laughed.  "Jeanne,  that's  a  question  that 
puzzles  many  a  wiser  head  than  yours.  I  presume  the 
one  that  paints  the  less  will  have  to  take  care  of  the 
babies.  But  that  would  be  a  pity,  confound  them ! 
for  mademoiselle  is  a  stronger  artist  than  most  of  the 
men  down  here.  If  they  'd  asked  my  advice,"  he 
went  on  with  a  quizzical  air,  more  to  himself  than  to 
his  hearers,  "I  should  have  first  said  don't^  and  then, 
don't  —  again  don't^  and  alwa^^s,  don't.'* 

"Why,  monsieur?"  Guenn  asked  abruptly,  facing 
him  with  a  look  of  eager  inquiry. 

"  Because,  my  dear  Mademoiselle  Rodellec,"  — 
stepping  as  far  back  in  the  boat  as  was  possible  and 
scrutinizing  his  picture,  —  "  one  of  the  few  profoundly 
solid  and  immovable  opinions  which  I  possess  is  that 
a  painter  ought  not  to  marry  anybody.  As  for  mar- 
rying another  painter  —  great  heavens  !  —  it  is  madness. 
But  I  know  one  man  who  will  keep  out  of  that, 
whatever  other  snare  he  may  fall  into,  and  his  name 
is  Everett  Hamor  —  at  j^our   service,   mesdames    et 


GUENN.  329 

monsieur,"  with   a  grand   swooping  bow  all  over  the 
boat. 

Jeanne  and  Nannie  laughed  heartily.  This  bow  was 
a  kind  of  wit  which  they  appreciated.  Guenn  swung 
the  great  oar  as  if  it  were  light  as  a  feather.  She  did 
not  feel  its  weight.  Her  slight  waist  leaned  warmly  on 
it,  moved  sympathetically  with  it  —  to  the  right,  to  the 
left,  as  it  made  innumerable  ripples  in  its  broad  sweep. 
Her  radiant  face  looked  across  to  the  other  shores  and 
above  the  hills  all  smoky  blue,  and  far  into  towering 
gray  cloud-masses,  with  an  indefinite  promise  of  hap- 
piness in  their  golden  edges,  and  a  pale-rose  sea  of 
hopefulness  closing  in  all  around. 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  am^re  ! " 

she  sang,  joyful  as  a  bobohnk  in  the  springtime. 

"  Jeanne,"  turning  suddenly  upon  the  affectionate 
but  phlegmatic  little  knitter,  "sometimes  you  are  as 
stupid  as  Victoria.  Do  stop  knitting.  Do  wake  up." 
Brilliant,  rosy,  impetuous,  exacting,  "Do be  nice,"  she 
said  to  her  placid  and  harmless  friend. 

"  Non,  le  roi  Arthur  n'est  pas  mort !  "  Nannie  was 
now  chanting.  "  King  Arthur  is  not  dead.  He  will 
return." 

Guenn  looked  as  if  she  thought  the  fair  king  had  re- 
turned, bringing  honor,  jo^^,  and  peace  to  the  land,  — - 
most  of  all  to  her,  his  chosen  handmaid. 


CHAPTEE   XVII. 

*'"\^0U  see  it  is  fairl}-  well  along,  monsieur  le  cur^,** 

J-     Hamor  said  cheerfully. 

"I  see,  monsieur." 

"  But  at  this  stage  of  its  progress  I  decidedh'  need 
Guenn." 

"You  need  Guenn,"  repeated  the  priest  mechani- 
cally. 

"Now  there's  some  sense  in  posing  over  here," 
remarked  the  3^oung  girl  with  a  bright  laugh.  "I 
alwa3's  felt  like  a  fool,  tr3'ing  to  row  in  monsieur's  ate- 
lier. Here,  thank  heaven,  one  knows  what  one  is 
about."  She  looked  smilinglj^  from  her  boat  at  the 
two  3'oung  men  on  the  rocks,  — Hamor  intentlj'  stud}"' 
ing  his  canvas,  Thymert,  grave  and  dark,  standing  neal 
him  with  folded  arms. 


GUENN.  331 

"  Yes,  I  must  change  that,"  Hamor  muttered,  step- 
ping backwards,  and  looking  through  his  hand.  ' '  Posez, 
Guenn,  throw  yourself  more  —  Ah!  that's  it.  Now. 
isn't  she  exquisite?"  with  a  burst  of  enthusiasm  to  the 
cure.  "  They  may  talk  till  they  are  black  in  the  face," 
he  said,  "  but  this  freedom  and  freshness  she  can 
only  have  when  she  is  actua%  rowing,  instead  of  pre- 
tending to  row.  Two  days  here  are  worth  more  to  me 
than  months  of  cobbling  in  the  atelier.  She  is  already 
sketched  in,  as  well  as  I  could  sketch  her  there.  But 
you  will  soon  see  the  difference,  monsiem-  le  cure,  all 
the  difference  in  the  world,"  —  he  was  painting  steadily 
—  "  the  difference  between  truth  and  life,  and  what  we 
call  chic.  Can  I  feel  the  pressure  of  the  water  against 
her  oar  in  the  atelier?  Can  she?  Can  I  paint  it?  No  ! 
a  thousand  times,  no.     Well  then." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  replied  the  priest  ab- 
sently. 

"You  can  be  sure  enough  that  I  feel  the  current," 
Guenn  called  out  merrilj-.  ''Oh,  how  it  pulls!  But 
I'm  good  for  it,  and  that's  a  mercy." 

"If  the  winds  don't  finally  sweep  us  all  away,  that 
will  be  another  mercy ;  "  and  Hamor  pulled  down  his 
beret  firmly.  "Your  islands  always  seem  to  resent 
the  presence  of  strangers.  If  one  were  not  able  to 
fall  back  upon  your  hospitality,  monsieur  le  cure,  one 
would  be  in  a  bad  way  out  here,  left  to  the  fury  of  the 
elements,"  —  with  a  civil  smile  at  his  host. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  picture  when 
it's  finished,  monsieur?"  Thymert  demanded  with 
brusque  irrelevance. 

"Why,  it's  for  the  Salon.  Have  you  forgotten?** 
cried  Guenn. 

"  Yes,  it's  for  the  Salon,  monsieur  le  cure." 


332  GUENN. 

"There  are  a  great  many  people  at  the  Salon?** 
asked  the  priest  slowh',  looking  at  Hamor. 

"Millions,"  Guenn  hastened  to  say,  —  "ladies  with 
dresses  bunched-up  behind,  gentlemen  with  little  glass 
windows  in  one  eye  —  all  walking  up  and  down  in 
rooms  miles  and  miles  long,  all  looking  at  the  pic- 
ture, all  clasping  their  hands  and  sa3^ing :  '  Mon 
dieu,  what  a  beautiful  picture  this  picture  of  Monsieur 
Hamor's  is  ! '  " 

Hamor  smiled  with  indulgence  for  the  flattering 
exaggeration.  Then,  "  Monsieur  le  cure,"  he  said 
amiabl}',  "  now  3'ou  will  observe,  to  a  certain  extent, 
what  I  was  trjing  to  explain.  Notice  the  eflect  of 
the  wind.  It  increases  the  action  incalculabl3^  I  did 
not  have  it  before.  See  the  water  —  Guenn's  skirt 
blown  straight  back  against  the  knees.  Charming, 
charming ! " 

"And  after  the  Salon,  monsieur?"  continued  the 
priest  with  singular  insistence. 

"Oh,"  —  Hamor  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  Thy- 
mert's  complete  want  of  interest  in  his  explanation,  but 
went  on  with  frank  good-humor — "after  the  Salon? 
Why  I  hope  to  sell  it,  of  course,"  laughing,  and  looking  at 
the  grave  and  dark  face  with  happy  confidence.  "  Shall 
I  confess  ?  Well,  I  hope  somebody"  will  be  fool  enough 
to  pay  ten  thousand  francs  for  it.  But  I  would  take 
five  thousand ;  and  I  beg  you  not  to  think  me  mean- 
spirited  if,  in  case  I  am  as  hard  up  in  the  spring  as  I 
expect  to  be,  and  as  it  is  in  fact  my  habit  to  become 
about  that  time,  I  might  be  induced  to  take  three 
thousand,  and  sa}^,  '  Thank  3'ou  kindly,  sir,'  to  boot !  " 

Guenn  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  heartilj'. 
She  had  heard  all  this  before,  but  she  alwaj^s  found  it 
amusing.     Thymert  did  not  seem  to  discover  the  amus- 


GUENN.  333 

ing  element  in  it.  He  wore  a  perplexed  look,  implying 
fruitless  mental  search.  His  sad  e3'es  wandered  hope- 
lessly over  his  nine  barren  islands  —  rich  in  courage, 
duty,  and  devotion,  but  ah,  so  poor  in  gold !  He 
came  nearer  the  canvas.  Guenn  stood  there,  —  surely, 
in  flesh  and  blood,  —  charming,  beautiful,  and  daringo 
He  started. 

"  It  is  the  few  last  touches  that  have  done  it,"  Ha- 
mor  said  pleasantly.  "Before,  she  was  a  milliner's 
doll.     Now  she  is  Guenn,  the  inimitable  Guenn." 

Managing  her  boat  with  the  strength  of  a  man,  yet 
exquisitel}"  girlish  and  graceful,  —  rude  and  wild,  3'et 
honest,  fearless,  and  good,  — the  j^oung  girl  on  the  can- 
vas was  looking  frankly  into  the  priest's  eyes.  He 
could  almost  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  little  red  ker- 
chief, the  warm  color  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks, 
and  —  although  the  face  was  earnest,  such  was  the  sug- 
gestion of  superabundant  youth  and  vitalit}^  conveyed 
b}'  Hamor's  truthful  touch,  —  almost  the  mischievous 
smiles  playing  about  her  lovely  mouth.  He  could 
almost  hear  her  wild  sweet  laughter,  the  sweetest  and 
most  innocent  in  the  whole  world.  All  the  pretty 
curves  of  the  lips  were  there,  curves  that  alwaj^s  re- 
minded Thj'mert  of  her  babyhood.  The  short,  decided 
nose  was  exactly  Guenn's  ;  the  dark  blue  eyes,  with  their 
perfect  simplicit}^  their  faithfulness  and  boldness,  were 
gazing  directly  into  his  ;  and  there  she  stood,  swinging 
the  enormous  oar  in  the  white-capped  waves,  so  fearless 
and  strong,  so  beautiful  —  poor  little  Guenn  !  and  all 
the  men  and  women  at  the  Salon  would  stare  at 
her,  and  chatter  about  her  as  the  strangers  did  at 
breakfast  that  day ;  and  she  would  look  at  them,  and 
not  be  troubled  or  afraid.  When  was  Guenn  Rodellec 
afraid?     But   oh,    the   pity  of  it  —  the   pits^   and   the 


334  GUENN, 

shame  !  Three  thousand  francs?  "  Louis  Morot  has  it 
and  to  spare,"  whispered  a  tempting  voice  in  his  heart. 
"  Get  tliee  behind  me,  Satan,"  replied  his  consciencCo 
"I  take  help  for  my  poor  people,  never  for  myself. 
This  is  for  mj^self.  God  knows,  only  for  myself.  It 
is  the  wish  of  m}^  own  heart ;  jQt  I  promised  Barba 
to  take  care  of  the  children." 

"  We  painters  are  a  singularly  misunderstood  bodj' 
of  men,"  Hamor  remarked  genially,  reflecting  that  if. 
the  priest,  as  was  evident,  had  small  interest  in  the 
sentiment  or  the  technique  of  a  picture,  he  might  at 
least  care  to  listen  to  some  practical  considerations. 
"  Now  I  ask  you  how  many  people  who  will  see  this 
painting  will  realize  that  it  represents  six  months' 
honest  labor,  that  I  had  to  live  in  the  mean  time  and 
pay  my  debts,  and  that  even  the  canvas  does  not  grow 
on  a  bush,  inviting  ever}'  passer-b}'  to  pluck  it.  After 
all,  a  picture  is  not  a  dream.     It  is  dail}-  bread." 

"  It  is  his  daily  bread,"  thought  the  priest  with  a  hot 
flash  in  his  dark  eyes,  "  yet  I  wish  I  could  chop  it  to 
pieces,  and  throw  it  into  the  sea.  It  would  hurt  me  to 
destroy  it,  because  it  is  Guenn.  I  would  turn  away 
my  head,  so  as  not  to  see  myself  cut  the  lovely  face  ; 
but  rather  than  have  the  little  girl  stared  at  and  talked 
about  by  that  Paris  world,  and  she  all  the  time  looking 
out  of  her  honest  eyes  without  a  thought  of  harm  —  " 

"  People  seem  to  imagine,"  Hamor  continued  with 
his  harmless  and  pleasing  frankness,  "that  a  picture 
comes  springing  into  existence  in  answer  to  the  paint- 
er's heaven-born  inspiration  and  mandate.  Now  it 
does  nothing  of  the  kind.  How  many  times  do  jo\x 
think  Guenn  has  posed  for  this  one  figure?  Well,  I 
have  been  sketching  her  surreptitiously  ever  since 
[  came  to  Plouvenec.     Through  all  the  little   studies 


GUENN.  335 

I  have  made  of  her,  this  has  been  continually  in  my 
mind.  We  have  done  weeks  of  work  in  the  atelier  for 
it  —  preparation,  you  know.  I  have  nearl}'  a  dozen 
charcoal-sketches,  and  almost  as  many  ebauches ;  and 
I  must  say  Guenn's  patient  devotion  to  the  cause  has 
been  marvellous,"  he  added,  smiling  kindly  at  her. 
"  Rest  a  moment,  Guenn.  Come  and  see  yourself 
now." 

"  Well,  I  never  did  care  so  much  for  anything  that 
is  n't  alive,"  she  exclaimed  warmly,  flushing  prettily 
under  his  praise,  sculling  towards  them,  jumping  lightly 
on  the  rocks  and  stretching  her  arms  above  her  head, 
before  she  threw  herself  carelessly  on  the  sand  behind 
Hamor. 

The  priest  looked  down  upon  her  with  pained  sur- 
prise.    ''  You  care  so  much  for  it  —  so  much  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  love  it  so  —  as  if  it  were  a  living,  breathing 
thing,  I  tell  3^ou.  It  is  monsieur's  best  picture.  I 
am  helping  him  make  it.  No  one  else  could  help  him 
as  much  as  I  do." 

Thymert  turned  abruptly. 

"  Take  care,  monsieur  le  cure  !  Ah,"  she  cried  re- 
proachfully, "your  soutane  has  brushed  against  it 
where  it  was  still  wet." 

"It's  of  absolutely  no  importance,"  said  Hamor  as 
the  priest  apologized.  "  Guenn  is  a  dragon  where  this 
particular  canvas  is  concerned.  She  thinks  that  I  take 
liberties  with  it.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  she  is  proud 
to  travel  off  to  Paris  and  show  them  how  a  little  Bre- 
tonne  can  scull.     Eh,  Guenn?" 

"No,  monsieur,"  she  said  softlj^,  smiling  with  much 
gentleness  and  drooping  her  long  lashes.  It  seemed 
to  the  priest  that  there  had  been  more  than  once  of  late 
a  certain  sadness  in  her  smile,  a  look  he  had  never  be- 


336  GUENN, 

fore  seen  in  her  careless  happ}'  face.  It  made  his  heart 
ache  strangel}'.  It  gave  him  a  sudden  feeling  of  rage. 
Bat  in  an  instant  she  was  laughing  in  unrestrained 
mirth,  like  her  free,  glad  self,  and  looking  up  from  her 
resting-place  in  the  sand,  ver}^  mischievous,  and  per- 
fectly at  ease  with  both  men.  "Those  people,"  she 
said  with  pretty  contempt,  "those  people  with  the 
bunch-ups  and  the  little  windows  on  their  eyes,  now 
what  do  they  know  about  scuUing  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them  know  a  little,"  Hamor  answered. 
"  Some  are  less  heathen  than  others.  Don't  be  severe 
upon  them,  Guenn." 

"Well,  they  won't  know  that  I  am  the  only  girl  in 
Plouvenec  that  can  handle  that  big  oar,"  she  announced 
arrogantly. 

Hamor  always  found  her  boastfulness  delicious. 

"If  not  quite  that,"  he  said  meekly,  "I  shall  at 
least  try  to  make  it  clear  that  the  oar  is  very  large  and 
that  you  are  very  small,  and  that  nobody  could  possibly 
handle  it  better." 

"Good,"  said  Guenn,  nodding  and  smiling.  The 
cure  stood  looking  at  the  painting,  the  young  girl,  the 
busy  artist,  the  sea.  He  was  restless  and  awkward,  out 
of  place.  No  one  could  be  more  at  home  than  Guenn. 
It  was  her  special  gift  and  grace  always  to  seem  to  be- 
long where  she  found  herself.  Lying  on  a  mossy  bank, 
curled  up  knitting  on  the  rocks,  flying  through  the 
chemins  creux,  with  her  hands  placed  aggressively  on 
her  hips,  mocking  Mother  Nives  at  the  river,  or  as 
now,  reclining  easily  in  a  hollow  m  the  sands,  —  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  suggest  an  attitude  more 
in  harmony  with  her  surroundings. 

"  I  was  about  to  sa}^  monsieur  le  cure,"  Hamor  began 
with  amiable  loquacity,  "that  people  are  continually 


GUENN.  337 

wandering  in  the  dark,  not  only  in  a  hopeless  attempt  to 
find  our  pictures,  but  ourselves.  They  don't  under- 
stand painters,  3'ou  know,"  he  remarked  with  a  charm- 
inglj^  confidential  and  explanatory  smile. 

"Ah!"  said  Thymert,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Guenn, 
and  running  his  hand  nervously  through  his  hair. 

"  I  assure  you,  no,"  —  Hamor's  manner  grew  imper- 
ceptibly didactic,  but  the  smile  which  he  gave  the  dark- 
robed,  dark-faced  man  beside  him  was  genial  and  kind, 
—  "upon  my  word.  Now  how  do  they  represent  us? 
As  sufl^ering,  isolated  geniuses,  towering  above  our 
fellow-creatures ;  as  rascals  and  profligates  ;  as  some- 
thing between  a  schoolgirl's  hero  and  a  man-milliner. 
But  do  you  find  in  general  an}'  conception,  in  books  or 
in  life,  of  us  as  we  for  the  most  part  are,  — as  3'ou  have 
seen  us  down  here,  for  instance,  —  men,  don't  3'ou 
know,  actual  men,  working  hard,  with  a  clearty  defined 
object,  —  men  like  other  men,  monsieur  le  cure,  as  ear- 
nest and  simple  as  your  fishermen ;  where  do  3'ou  find 
us,  I  ask  you?  " 

Guenn  had  raised  herself  on  one  elbow,  and  with 
parted  lips  and  an  entranced  expression  was  listening 
to  Hamor's  harangue,  —  to  its  music  rather  than  to  its 
substance. 

'•  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  monsieur,"  answered  the 
sailor-priest's  deep  bass,  somewhat  roughl3\ 

"  One  becomes  disgusted,  I  may  well  say  nauseated," 
continued  Hamor,  in  smiling  obhviousness  of  the  cure's 
mood,  intent  upon  the  picture,  3'et  saihng  along  agree- 
abl3^  on  his  broad  stream  of  fluent  talk,  "  with  the 
world's  idea  of  the  artist,  be  he  a  Pariah  through  want 
of  principle,  or  a  sublimated,  etherealized  shadow  of 
a  man.  The  world  does  not  understand  the  artist- 
temperament,  yet  it  is   continual^   harping  upon   it. 

22 


338  GUENN. 

It  is  supposed  to  lead  to  much  harm.  Does  it  eveir 
occur  to  the  croakers  to  consider  that  the  artist  does 
positive  good  to  the  world?  whereas  his  faults  and  frail- 
ties are  b}^  no  means  his  alone,  but  are  shared  b}'  other 
men  who  do  no  good  at  all.  Now  if  you  tell  me  that 
Goethe  was  —  "  He  stepped  back,  scowled  a  little  at 
his  work,  half  closing  his  eyes,  and  forgot  to  resume  his 
oration.     "  Posez,  Gruenn." 

With  a  light  bound  the  girl  sprang  down  the  rocks. 

"  Row  her  out  a  few  strokes." 

She  obeyed. 

"Advance  the  right  leg  a  little  more.  Waist  well 
back." 

Thpnert  with  great  strides  was  already  ascending  the 
bank.  On  his  face  was  a  dark  flush,  as  if  caused  by 
violent  bodily  exertion. 

"  Are  3'ou  going,  monsieur  le  cure?"  Hamor  called 
in  a  friendh^  tone.  "  He  does  not  hear,  he  is  absorbed 
in  his  own  thoughts.  What  do  our  pett}^  conven- 
tionahties  matter,  after  all?"  he  thought  admiringly. 
"  This  man  is  above  them." 

Thj^mert  was  standing  among  the  coarse  grass  and 
crosses,  but  for  once  he  had  no  thought  of  his  drowned 
sailors.  His  ej^es  were  full  of  rage  ;  his  strong  hands 
were  clenched.  His  head  was  erect  and  turned  nearly 
profile  to  the  painter.  The  wind  stirred  the  long  hair 
on  his  shoulders.  "  0  my  God !  "  moaned  the  young 
priest. 

"  I  can't  resist  that,"  Hamor  said  to  himself;  "It's 
that  superb  pose.  Wait,  Guenn,  rest ;  "  and  the  strong 
man  in  his  pain  was  ably  transferred  to  the  sketch- 
book. 

"  Monsieur  le  cure,"  called  the  painter  suddenly,  in 
a  laughing,  deprecating  voice,  "  what  would  you  say  if 


GUENN.  339 

I  should  be  bold  enough  to  ask  j-ou  to  pose  for  me  ? 
Since  I  'm  here  on  the  spot,  it  would  not  seem  presum- 
ing, would  it?  You  feel,  I  hope,  that  it  is  quite  the 
natural  thing  for  me  to  do  ?  "  His  admiration  for  the 
cure  was  profound,  and  the  modesty  and  somewhat 
youthful  hesitation  of  his  manner  were  sincere  expo- 
nents of  his  desire  in  no  way  to  wound  Thymert's 
pride. 

Hamor  —  smiling,  waiting  for  his  answer  —  did  not 
look  up  from  his  work.  The  priest  threw  back  his  noble 
head,  gazed  up  to  the  zenith,  then  closed  his  eyes  an 
instant.  The  anger  passed  from  his  face,  and  some- 
thing sombre  settled  there,  —  not  resignation  alone,  not 
hopelessness,  but  perhaps  both,  —  with  a  dreary  and 
desolate  courage. 

"  Monsieur  le  cure,  why  don't  you  answer  Monsieur 
Hamor?"  Guenn  called  with  evident  discontent. 

''  Pray  don't  disturb  him,"  Hamor  said  quickly,  in  a 
low  tone  ;  "  be  more  considerate.  A  man  like  Thymert 
has  much  to  think  of." 

''  Well,  he  might  answer  a  civil  question,"  she  per- 
sisted, making  a  perverse  little  moue  ;  "  he  isn't  deaf. 
And  when  you  speak,  monsieur,"  she  said,  with  charm- 
ing naivete,  "it  is  so  easy  to  hear.  It  is  a  voice  one 
must  hear,"  she  repeated  emphaticalty.  "  Why,  one 
hears  it,  when  all  the  sailors  on  the  common  are  shouting 
themselves  hoarse." 

But  Thymert  had  at  least  heard  the  summons  of  her 
young  voice,  that  always  reminded  him  of  crystal-clear 
water  with  little  ripples  in  it,  and  was  obeying. 

"Pardon,  monsieur;   I  was  occupied  with  my  own 
thoughts."     He  took  off  his  hat  and  passed  his  hand 
across  his  brow  abruptly.     Hamor  poHtely  waited. 
^    "He  wants  you  to  pose,  j'ou  know."    Guenn  spoke 


340  GUENN, 

with  much  impatience,  faihng  to  recognize  the  smallest 
reason  for  dela3\ 

"  I  should  consider  it  a  great  honor  and  privilege  to 
be  allowed  to  paint  you,  monsieur  le  cure,"  Hamor 
said  very  courteously  ;  then,  with  a  flash  of  enthusiasm 
lighting  his  whole  face;  "1  have  been  hoping,  wait- 
ing, —  longing  for  the  opportunity  ever  since  I  saw  you 
that  first  night ;  I  have  indeed." 

"  Well?  "  demanded  Guenn,  surprised  and  somewhat 
irritated. 

' '  I  don't  think  I  am  exactly  the  kind  of  person  one 
paints,"  said  the  priest  slowly.  He  looked  down  with 
irony  upon  his  worn  soutane,  wondering  whether  it  were 
possible  that  he  too  had  what  the  men  at  breakfast  that 
dsij  had  called  lines.  Moreover,  he  felt  a  horror  of 
the  whole  paraphernalia  of  this  amiable,  irreproachable 
3'oung  man,  against  whom  he  could  not  in  words  make 
one  reasonable  complaint.  A  moment  before,  he  was 
conscious  of  hating  the  stranger.  He  had  had  a  furi- 
ous desire  to  throw  him  and  his  belongings  off  the  rocks. 
'•God  forgive  me  if  there  be  murder  in  my  soul!" 
he  had  prayed  in  the  little  graveyard.  As  for  being  im- 
prisoned on  this  man's  canvas,  it  would  be  better  to  be 
caged  outright,  never  again  take  one  free  step,  never 
again  feel  the  sunlight  on  one's  cheek,  the  sea-winds 
lifting  one's  hair ! 

"  I  can  hardly  explain  to  you  what  an  unusually 
important  study  I  find  you,"  Hamor  said  seriouslj^ 

The  priest  stared  at  him  with  utter  want  of  compre- 
hension and  sjTiipathy ;  then  answered  coldly:  "I 
should  not  like  it,  — I  have  not  the  patience." 

''  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Guenn  indignantly. 

Both  men  looked  at  her.  She  had  forgotten  to  posCj 
was  frowning  at  the  cure  and  flushing  with  vexation. 


GUENN,  341 

**But  it  is  unkind,  monsieur  le  recteur ! "  she  began 
vehetnently.  "  It  is  such  a  little  thing  to  do.  Bah,  it 
does  not  hurt,  and  monsieur  wishes  it.  It  is  not  like 
you  to  refuse." 

Thymert  looked  at  her  without  speaking.  She  soft- 
ened under  his  sad  gaze. 

"Ah,  monsieur  le  cure,  you  will  do  it  if  I  beg? 
Monsieur  would  be  so  pleased  ;  monsieur  only  cares  to 
paint  you  and  me."  She  was  pleading  very  sweetly 
now.     ^'  Monsieur  wishes  it  so  very  much." 

"  Don't  insist,  Guenn.  Monsieur  le  cure  must  decide 
for  himself,"  Hamor  interposed,  gently.  "  Of  course,  if 
it  would  not  be  agreeable,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be 
said." 

But  Guenn  went  on  in  her  rapid,  eager  way  :  '^  And 
while  monsieur  is  here  it  would  be  so  simple.  It  would 
scarcely  disturb  you  at  all.  And  monsieur  is  kind 
enough  to  make  the  beautiful  picture  for  the  chapel, 
and  you  see  how  much  he  cares  to  paint  you.  And 
why  should  you  not,  indeed,  if  he  wishes  it?  He 
has  me.  Why  may  he  not  have  you  ?  He  only  wants 
us  two.     Surely,  surely  you  will  consent." 

"Guenn,  Guenn!"  Hamor  interrupted  her  with  a 
pleasant  laugh. 

"  He  only  wants  us  two,"  moved  the  cure  strangely. 

"  He  is  going  to  say  yes,"  cried  Guenn,  smihng  and 
clasping  her  hands  eagerly. 

Thymert  stepped  nearer  the  picture.  "  If  you  would 
put  me  in  that  boat,"  he  suggested,  with  the  simplicity 
of  a  child.  Yes,  it  would  surely  be  more  fitting.  How 
wrong  of  him  not  to  have  thought  of  it  before  !  If  a 
Breton,  and  one  of  her  own  race  too,  should  go  off  with 
the  little  girl  to  Paris,  —  then,  if  the  strange  men  and 
women  did  stare  curiously  at  her  lovely,  glowing  face, 


342  GUENN, 

and  watch  her  swing  the  hea\y  oar,  and  make  their 
bold  and  hateful  comments,  —  at  least  she  would  not 
stand  there  unprotected  and  alone  before  them  all. 

"  We  will  see,"  said  Hamor,  restraining  a  smile.  "  I 
can  tell  better  later,  after  I  have  made  a  study  of 
you.  Indeed,  I  feel  immensel}'  grateful  to  3'ou,  and  1 
really  shall  not  trouble  you  much  ;  I  could  n't  presume, 
monsieur  le  cure.  A  short  sitting,  two  or  three  da^'s, 
will  give  me  all  that  is  necessarj^  for  what  I  have  in  my 
mind.  To  speak  plainly,  I  have  lately  been  thinking  of 
you  more  especially  as  John  the  Baptist.  There  are 
several  others,  indeed"  —  he  contemplated  the  dark  and 
powerful  man  with  his  appreciative  artist/ision,  —  ' '  yet 
*  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness' —  hm  —  hm  " — 
His  words  died  away  in  an  unintelligible  murmur,  while 
his  dehghted  eyes  feasted  on  the  cure's  face  and  form, 
and  his  fancy  revelled  in  myriads  of  compositions. 

Thymert  but  half  heard  him.  He  loathed  the  whole 
scheme.  But  if  the  painter,  as  Guenn  said,  had  her,  he 
might  have  him.  Guenn  wished  it.  That  was  reason 
enough. 

"  Was  John  the  Baptist  like  us  Bretons?  "  asked  the 
3'oung  girl  curiousl}'. 

"He  had  some  Breton  traits,"  replied  the  cure 
dr^^ly ;  at  which  Hamor  laughed,  and  Thymert  himself 
faintly  smiled.  It  gave  him  unhoped-for  comfort,  to 
hear  the  familiar  "  us  Bretons  "  from  Guenn's  hps  again. 
The  tall  easel,  planted  aggressively  there  on  his  free 
island,  seemed  for  the  moment  less  obnoxious. 

"Now  you  are  smilmg,  now  you  are  your  kind 
self,"  Guenn  exclaimed  audaciously-.  "  Now  I  am 
glad.     Of  course  you  will  do  as  monsieur  wishes." 

"I  must  go  over  to  the  Cigogne,"  said  the  priest 
abruptly.     "Old  Jean  is  worse." 


GUENN, 


343 


*' You  will  find  us  still  at  it  when  you  come  back," 
Hamor  answered  brightly. 

"  Brigitte  is  there,  if  you  want  anything,"  added  the 
priest. 

"  Monsieur  le  cure,"  —  Guenn  looked  at  him  as  he 
stepped  into  his  own  boat ;  something  in  his  face  dis- 
turbed her,  —  "  was  I  cross?  I  am  sorry,"  she  said, 
with  not  much  penitence,  but  w^ith  a  very  charming 
little  laugh,  and  kind,  honest  eyes. 

"  No,  you  were  not  cross  ;  you  were  only  troubled." 

"Well,  I  hurt  you,"  she  persisted.  "You  looked 
so,"  —  setting  her  lips  firmly,  in  merry  imitation  of  the 
priest. 

"  You  could  not  hurt  me,  child,"  he  exclaimed  with 
noble  warmth.  "  You  could  never  hurt  me,  Guenn  ;  you 
could  not  if  you  should  try."  He  rowed  past  her,  with 
a  smile  of  tenderest  indulgence  greeting  her  beneath  his 
mournful  eyes. 

"  Well,  you  are  good,"  she  retorted  carelessly,  watch- 
ing Hamor  closely  and  waiting  for  his  signal;  "you 
are  an  angel." 

"  Posez,  Guenn  !  "  said  the  painter. 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 


UENN  was  thoroughly  happy. 
This  last  experience  was  full 
of  special  attractiveuess.  To 
sail  over  to  the  Lannions 
every  morning  was  in  itself 
a  dehght  to  the  girl,  but 
there  was  something  glori- 
ous in  being  taken  over  by 
Meurice  as  monsieur's  indis- 
pensable model.  She  would 
have  liked  to  stay  nights,  as 
monsieur  did,  instead  of  being  sent  home  ever}^  evening ; 
but  madame  of  the  Voyageurs,  who  so  rarely  interfered 
in  other  people's  affairs,  simply  did  interfere  on  this 
occasion,  and  neither  she  nor  anybody  else  need  sa}'' 
the  contrar}^,  Guenn  reflected,  with  a  frown.  It  was  all 
arranged :  she  was  to  stay  four  days,  and  old  Brigitte 
could  look  after  her,  monsieur  said ;  although  this 
seemed  to  Guenn  a  curious  idea,  as  she  felt  herself 
much  more  capable  of  looking  after  old  Brigitte.  It 
was  a  pity  Nannie  would  not  and  Jeanne  could  not 
go.  Monsieur  had  not  written  to  Th3'mert,  but  had 
merely  said  one  day,  in  his  bright,  sudden  wa}^  that 
they  would  sail  over  the  next  morning,  and  trust  to 
luck ;    indeed  there  was   scarcel}^  a   chance  of  luck's 


GUENN.  345 

being  against  them.  Guenn  had  come  late  to  the  Voy- 
ageurs,  to  tell  monsieur  that  she  had  seen  Meurice  and 
arranged  ever^'thing ;  it  was  then  that  madame  her- 
self rose  up  and  positively  interfered,  insisting  that 
Guenn  was  to  be  brought  back  to  Plouvenec  every 
evening. 

*'  But  will  it  not  be  almost  impossible  for  her  to  come 
over  early  enough  mornings,  madame  ?  "  suggested  Ha- 
mor  doubtfully.  "  That  is  all  that  is  important.  The 
days  are  short ;  I  must  have  the  morning  light." 

"  Oh  no  !  not  impossible,"  Guenn  cried  eagerly,  "  but 
only  stupid,  since  you  prefer  me  to  stay  there,"  —  with 
a  resentful  glance  at  madame. 

"  It  is  cold  at  the  Lannions,"  madame  said  quickly. 

"As  if  I  care!  " 

"  There  are  other  things  tha;t  are  important." 

"Bah!"  said  Guenn. 

"It  is  altogether  inconvenient,"  persisted  madame; 
"  I  am  sure  Monsieur  Hamor  agrees  with  me." 

After  five  minutes'  private  and  very  amicable  conver- 
sation Monsieur  Hamor  did  agree  with  her.  "  Of 
course  I  want  her  as  early  as  I  can  paint." 

"  She  shall  be  punctual,  monsieur." 

"  You  see,  the  cure  being  there,  and  old  Brigitte, 
and  —  and  as  it  is  Guenn  Rodellec  ;  and  as  I  am  —  I  — 
well,  upon  my  word,  madame,  I  did  not  trouble  my 
head  about  the  proprieties,"  he  acknowledged  with  a 
laugh. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,  monsieur,"  suavely,  "  but  it 
is  better  that  Meurice  takt^.  ner  home  early  in  the  even- 
ing. She  will  enjoy  that  ;  our  girls  like  to  sail,  and 
they  sail  less  than  one  would  expect.  It  is  curious,  is 
it  not,  how  little  our  girls  on  the  coast  sail  ?  " 

Hamor  admitted  that  it  was  very  curious  indeed ;  and 


346  GUENN. 

Guenn,  much  against  her  will,  was  obliged  to  submit  to 
the  iiie\itable.  But  afterwards  she  did  not  regret  mad- 
ame's  interference. 

This  vo3'age  of  honor  and  triumph  stimulated  her 
pride.  He  was  waiting  for  her :  she  was  necessary  to 
him.  Sailing  to  him  in  state  was  quite  different  from  hur- 
rying through  the  familiar  Plouvenec  streets,  and  waiting 
under  the  arch  until  monsieur  came  along  with  his  ke3'S 
to  open  the  studio.  She  had  never  heard  of  Cleopatra 
going  to  meet  Mark  Antou}^,  of  royal  barge  wreathed 
with  garlands  and  shaded  by  silken  awnings  held  aloft 
by  ros}'  cupids ;  but  her  radiant  loveliness,  her  exulta- 
tion, was  equal  to  that  of  any  woman  who  ever  lived 
and  loved  ;  and  as  she  plunged  through  the  white-capped 
waves  to  him,  with  joy  in  her  eyes  and  laughter  on 
her  lips,  the  rough  winds  crimsoning  her  cheeks,  she 
queened  it  with  pretty  t3Tann3^  over  Meurice  and  his 
crew,  captivating  them  completely  with  her  beauty  and 
innocent  lawlessness,  until  every  man  of  them  was  in 
honest  subjection  to  this  imperious  little  being,  with  her 
sweet  voice  and  fearless  eyes.  In  the  freshness  of  the 
mornings  they  left  her,  buoyant  and  rosy,  on  the  outer 
rocks  of  the  Lannions,  where  Ham  or  and  the  priest 
came  to  help  her  ashore.  How  proudl}'  her  heart  beat 
as  she  saw  the  two  tall  figures,  the  painter  in  his  browns, 
the  priest  in  his  old  soutane,  waiting  to  receive  her ! 
In  the  early  winter  twilight  they  brought  her  again  to 
the  boat,  that  called  for  her,  returning  from  the  da3''s 
fishing.  Then  she  would  quickl}'  curl  herself  up  on  a  coil 
of  rope,  and  the  sailors  thought  she  was  tired  or  asleep, 
and  Meurice  always  covered  the  quiet  little  figure  with 
a  blanket,  —  even,  when  it  grew  cold,  with  his  own 
coat;  and  the  rough  men  tried  to  wake  her  softly 
when  the  boat  ran  up  to  the  Plouvenec  landing.     But 


guenn:  347 

she  was  not  asleep.  Living  over  in  memory  every  mo- 
ment of  the  da}',  —  not  dreamil}',  yet  jealously  exclud- 
ing, in  her  serious  passion,  all  other  sights  and  sounds  ; 
counting  her  golden  treasure  of  words  and  glances ; 
asking  herself  pitilessly  if  she  had  given  her  best  strength 
to  the  work  which  he  required  of  her,  —  if  the  great  pic- 
ture could  be  satisfied  with  her  this  day ;  her  imagina- 
tion richly  painting  the  happy  morrow,  —  she  sailed 
back  under  the  stars  to  Plouvenec.  And  the  love  of 
the  rough  ptle  girl,  l3ing  carelessly  in  the  old  fishing- 
smack  among  rude  men,  was  a  lofty  love,  breathing 
self-sacrifice,  courage,  and  high  sentiment,  —  leading  her 
to  shape  her  life  bravely  day  by  da}',  not  for  the  reward 
of  love's  softness  and  endearments,  but  struggling 
against  the  uncomprehended  longing  of  her  heart. 
Working  for  a  cause,  living  for  an  idea,  she  offered 
her  soul  in  pure  homage  before  Hamor  and  his  aims. 

So  the  days  went  by,  six  days  instead  of  four,  and 
every  evening  she  was  transformed  into  a  silent  little 
being,  whom  they  made  comfortable  as  best  they  could, 
and  sheltered  from  the  winds  with  awkward  tenderness. 
When  the  seventh  morning  came,  and  no  httle  figure  was 
before  them  on  the  wharf,  —  no  rosy  eager  face  looked 
frankly  at  them,  no  girl's  voice  in  sweet  impatience 
ordered  them  about,  found  fault  with  their  slowness, 
ridiculed  their  clumsiness,  then  smiled  and  graciously 
forgave  them,  —  they  were  sorry,  and  wished  the 
people  at  the  Lannions  had  needed  Guenn  Rodellec 
longer. 

It  was  a  week  of  most  satisfactory  weather,  and  re- 
sults to  Hamor,  — not  too  sunny,  not  too  cold,  replete 
with  novelty  and  charm.  Guenn  regained  in  full  force 
the  qualities  which  now  and  then  seemed  to  be  fading, 
why  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  say,  under  the  indis- 


348  GUENN. 

putably  improving  influences  of  the  atelier  life.  A  little 
fierce,  a  little  wild  she  should  be,  for  his  purposes.  At 
the  same  time,  a  certain  docility  among  the  models  was 
certainly  agreeable.  Guenn  had  been  obedient,  sweet- 
tempered,  helpful  as  possible,  since  he  had  had  the  tact 
to  interest  her  in  the  picture,  and  more  spirited  as  a 
model  than  any  other  mortal  could  hope  to  be.  Still, 
she  was  a  peculiar  being,  and  must  be  measured  only 
with  herself.  A  certain  something  he  missed  now  and 
then.  Was  it  freshness,  grace,  daring?  She  surely 
had  enough,  he  reflected.  Still,  before,  in  her  state  of 
utter  lawlessness,  she  had  had  a  fascinating  and  delicious 
too-much  of  these  qualities.  Great  then  was  his  joy 
and  thankfulness,  to  see  her  arriving  morning  after 
morning  at  the  Lannions  in  the  perfect  condition  he 
desired,  rosy,  buoyant,  free,  and  fearless,  strongly  in- 
clined to  domineer,  and  with  the  bewitching  excess  of 
wild  animal  spirits,  of  which  he  disapproved  in  his  daily 
intercourse  with  her,  but  which  immeasurabl}^  enhanced 
her  picturesqueness  and  artistic  worth.  ''  It  is  hke  the 
perfume  of  a  flower,  the  bloom  of  a  peach.  I  must 
make  it  mine  while  I  can."  He  experienced  a  deep 
sense  of  gratitude  to  the  powers  that  controlled  his 
destiny,  that  they  had,  at  precisely  this  time,  produced 
in  Guenn  Rodellec's  lovely  little  person  all  the  effects 
he  most  needed  to  complete  his  important  picture. 

"  I  am  a  singularly  fortunate  man,"  he  said  one 
evening  to  the  priest.  "  I  almost  always  have  what  I 
wish.  It  is  no  merit  of  course,  but  it  is  a  fact  never- 
theless. I  am  lucky.  To  be  sure,  my  desires  are  not 
very  extravagant,"  he  added,  laughing  pleasantly. 
"  Beyond  my  painting,  I  have  none.  Now  the  first 
night  I  was  in  Plouvenec  I  saw  you  and  Guenn,  each 
in  a  singularly  vivid,  striking  way.     I  resolved  to  paint 


GUENN.  349 

you.  I  have  painted  you.  Does  n't  it  seem  as  if  I 
were  lucky  beyond  my  deserts  ?  " 

To  this,  as  to  many  cheerful  statements  on  the  part 
of  his  guest,  Thymert  listened  without  repljdng,  merely 
turning  his  dark  eyes  in  a  slow  questioning  way  upon 
the  animated  face  opposite  him. 

"Are  you  trying  to  penetrate  the  recesses  of  my 
nature?"  Hamor  asked  him.  "Because  believe  me, 
monsieur  le  cure,  I  have  no  recesses.  No  man  was 
ever  so  shallow  as  I." 

Thymert  made  a  deprecating  gesture  and  said  sim- 
ply:  "Pardon,  monsieur,  I  sometimes  lose  myself  in 
my  thoughts.     It  is  a  bad  habit." 

Hamor  found  him  as  a  companion  more  gloomy  and 
fitful  than  he  had  anticipated.  Remembering  the  large 
warmth  of  the  priest's  manner  that  pleasant  morning 
at  breakfast,  his  graciousness  and  even  his  gaj^et}',  the 
gravity  of  his  bearing  in  these  latter  days  impressed  the 
painter  singularly.  Still  he  found  it  in  strict  harmony 
trith  the  desolate  islands  and  the  melancholy  sound  of 
the  eternal  surges.  Beautiful  as  was  Th3'mert's  smile, 
Dlashing  over  the  dark  and  ardent  face,  there  was  more 
grandeur  in  his  sombre  earnestness.  He  was  emphati- 
cally a  heroic  figure,  and  as  such  Hamor  painted  him 
with  fine  selection ;  remaining  on  the  Loch  two  daj^s 
after  he  had  dispensed  with  Guenn's  services  there,  in 
order  to  do  as  much  with  the  cure  in  so  short  a  time 
as  the  cure's  evident  impatience  would  permit.  The 
painter  felt  too  considerate  and  too  courteous  to  insist 
upon  sta3'ing  long  enough  to  make  a  finished  picture ; 
but,  thanks  to  Guenn's  intercession,  he  could  at  least 
provide  himself  with  a  couple  of  valuable  studies  of 
this  rare  type. 

Nights,  after  Guenn  was  gone,  the  simple  kindness 


350  GUENN. 

of  the  priest's  nature  asserted  itself.  The  two  young 
men  would  often  chat  late,  —  the  painter,  it  is  true,  being 
the  chief  speaker,  the  priest  listening  with  interest.  In 
talking  with  this  man,  whose  own  life  knew  unnumbered 
hardships  and  perils,  Hamor  related  his  rough  Western 
experiences  amiabh^  and  modestl3^  There  was  much 
in  them  which  Th3^mert  cared  to  hear.  He  would  often 
be  roused  to  expressions  of  keen  S3'mpathy,  enthusiasm, 
admiration.  Then,  quieting,  the  slow  inscrutable  inquiry 
would  creep  into  his  ej'es,  and  he  would  become  moody 
and  restless.  Sometimes  he  would  display  an  extraor- 
dinar}'  interest  in  painting-,  asking  the  most  minute 
questions,  as  if  striving  to  reach  the  soul  of  the  matter. 
At  other  times,  when  Hamor  was  idly  chatting,  he 
would  rise  abruptl}',  fling  his  hair  back  with  impatience, 
and  —  muttering  a  half-apology,  or  none  at  all —  would 
rush  out  of  the  dimly  lighted  room  in  the  corner  of  the 
chapel,  and  pace  his  island  in  uncontrollable  agitation. 
The  chapel  on  the  Loch  never  turned  awa}'  a  guest, 
living  or  dead  ;  but  its  priest's  generous  heart  was  sorely 
tortured  by  this  constant  intercourse  with  the  amiable 
painter,  whom  he  sought  in  vain  to  comprehend.  Th}^- 
mert  felt  that  his  soul  was  adrift,  rudderless,  in  a  stormy 
sea,  under  black  heavens.  He  understood  neither  him- 
self nor  his  surroundings.  He  could  specif}^  no  danger, 
no  wrong ;  yet  the  nameless  forebodings  which  had 
haunted  him  for  months  grew  each  da}'  more  intense. 
He  trembled  for  little  Guenn,  who  was  nevertheless 
happ3^  and  safe.  He  dreaded  and  feared  the  painter, 
he  hated  him  at  times  ;  yet  who  was  so  sunny  and  harm- 
less as  Monsieur  Hamor?  Already  every  man  on  the 
islands  swore  by  him,  and  he  was  as  glad  to  do  a  fel- 
low-creature a  kindness  as  Louis  Morot  himself.  Noth- 
ing was  too  rough  for  him,  nothing  daunted  him.     He 


GUENN.  351 

was  a  brave,  simple  gars,  with  his  heart  in  the  right 
place,  and  the  making  of  a  gallant  sailor.  The  cure's 
simple  sense  of  justice  forced  him  again  and  again  to 
this  conclusion.  Yet  when  the  painter  put  up  that  easel, 
with  its  hideous  spider-legs,  Thj^mert  shuddered  as  if  he 
saw  some  cruel,  blood-sucking  animal  reaching  after  its 
prey,  and  turned  away  with  a  suffocating  flood  of  hot 
and  helpless  resentment  surging  in  his  heart,  a  mights- 
savage  impulse  to  destro}^  and  kill.  His  instincts 
warned  him,  and  made  him  wretched  ;  but  his  perplexed 
and  contradictory  reasonings  were  powerless  to  explain 
to  him  his  fears.  To  his  simple  and  positive  mind, 
this,  in  itself,  was  misery. 

But  whether  he  sat  silent  and  sad  in  his  stud}-,  or 
gazed  with  uncomplaining,  painful  eflbrt  into  Hamor's 
unreachable  soul,  or  drew  himself  up  superbl}-  in  his 
threadbare  soutane  and  rushed  out  into  the  night,  — 
whether  he  was  solicitous  in  his  hospitality,  or  gave 
shortjanswers,  and  impatient  movements,  — Hamor  was 
always  his  enthusiastic  and  indefatigable  admirer.  The 
priest  could  not  swing  his  powerful  shoulders,  but  Ha- 
mor rejoiced  and  congratulated  himself.  Thymert's  dark 
figure  on  the  rocks  impressed  itself  indelibly  on  Hamor's 
memory.  Thymert  could  not  frown  without  giving  the 
painter  exquisite  pleasure ;  and  the  priest's  simplest 
action  was  apt  to  suggest  to  him  a  memorable  and  pas- 
sionate moment  in  the  life  of  some  world-famed  hero, 
Hamor  regarded  his  week  at  the  islands  as  one  of  the 
most  charming  and  fruitful  episodes  of  his  life. 

One  strange  night  rendered  him  more  than  ever  im- 
pressed with  the  extraordinar}'  power  and  magnetism  of 
the  priest,  whom  he  regarded,  in  all  sincerit3%  as  the 
most  profoundly  interesting  man  he  had  known. 

It  was  Saturday.     Hamor  had  declared  himself  satis- 


352  GUENN 

fied  with  the  important  points  of  his  week's  work; 
what  remained,  he  could  finish  in  the  studio,  he  said. 
Guenn  was  happ}^  in  his  praise,  unspeakably  sorr}^  to 
leave  the  islands,  completel}^  under  his  magical  influence. 
The  night  fell  stormil}',  and  Meurice  did  not  come. 
Guenn  felt  in  every  fibre  the  rise  of  the  storm,  the  omi- 
nous  sweep  of  the  angry  winds,  the  threatening  roar  of 
the  ocean.  Her  blue  eyes  grew  black  with  excitement. 
Hamor  anticipated  an  enjoyable  experience ;  but  Thy- 
mert,  with  an  anxious  look,  said,  "  Guenn,  Meurice 
cannot  get  in." 

"  Meme  chose,"  she  replied. 

"  But  3-0U  will  have  to  stay  here  to-night,"  —  discon- 
tentedl3\ 

"  Why  not?  I  always  wanted  to  sleep  here.  Surely 
you  can  find  a  place  for  such  a  little  thing,  monsieur  le 
recteur,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  mixture  of  appeal- 
ing smiles  and  peremptoriness.  "At  all  events,  if 
Meurice  does  not  come,  it  is  evident  I  am  here,  whether 
you  want  me  or  not,"  she  added.  "You  cannot  help 
yourself.     Boom  !     How  the  waves  strike  !  " 

"Old  Jean  is  worse,"  remarked  Thymert  after  a 
moment. 

"But  it's  as  much  as  your  life  is  worth  to  cross  to 
the  Cigogne,"  said  Guenn. 

The  priest  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  shall  cross 
all  the  same,"  he  rejoined. 

"  Does  he  suffer?  "  asked  the  3'oung  girl. 

"  He  finds  no  rest.  He  has  swung  his  right  arm  in 
the  air  the  whole  week  —  slowly,  like  a  pendulum.  He 
is  very  weary.  His  wife  tries  to  hold  the  poor  arm. 
'  Rest,  my  poor  Jean,  rest,'  she  whispers.  '  I  cannot,'' 
says  Jean  ;  '  I  am  a  clock  —  tic-tac,  tic-tac'  " 

"  How  very  curious  !  "  exclaimed  Hamor. 


GUENN.  353 

"Curious,  monsieur?"  returned  the  priest,  with  an 
impatient  gesture  and  a  sensitive  flush.  ''  What  is 
curious  ?  It  is  life.  Jean  was  a  clockmaker's  son  at 
Brest.  He  ran  away  to  sea.  He  is  dying.  His  child- 
hood comes  back  to  the  old  man.  I  see  nothing  curious 
in  that,  monsieur."  Thymert  rose,  and  measured  the 
little  room  in  two  strides. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Hamor  gently. 

"  If  you  go  over  to  Jean,  I  shall  go,"  Guenn  asserted 
emphatically. 

"It  is  too  rough  for  a  girl,"  the  priest  declared 
quickly. 

"When  was  I  afraid?"  she  demanded,  springing  up 
and  standing  by  his  side.     "  I  shall  go  with  you,  I  say." 

"  Ah,  Guenn  !  "  he  answered,  with  a  long  look  and  a 
sigh. 

"  May  I  go  too?  "  asked  Hamor. 

"  What  do  3'ou  care  about  it?"  The  priest  faced  his 
guest  almost  rudely.  "  Why  should  you  go?  What  is 
old  Jean  to  you  ?  " 

Hamor  hesitated.  Thymert's  ej^es  were  like  pent-up, 
smouldering  fires.  Then  the  painter  said  quietly,  his 
face  expressing  the  gentlest  sympathy  and  deference, 
"  I  could  at  least  help  you  with  the  boat,  monsieur  le 
recteur." 

The  sweetness  of  his  temper  seemed  perfect  to  Guenn. 
"  Yes,  he  can  help  us  with  the  boat,"  she  said,  still 
standing  by  Thj'mert,  grave  and  womanly,  ready  to  go 
with  him  through  the  storm  to  his  dying  fisherman. 
How  good  and  brave  she  was,  Httle  Guenn !  What 
subtle  comfort  to  his  weary  soul  lay  in  this  one  act  of 
hers ! 

The  cure's  tension  relaxed.  "  Come  then,  mon- 
sieur, if  you  like,"  he  said  slowly;  "  and  pardon  my 

23 


354  GUENN. 

impatient  ways,"  he  added  regretfully.     "  I  have  many 
cares." 

"Ah,  monsieur  le  cure!"  Hamor  took  his  hand 
with  warmth. 

"How  like  an  angel  he  looks!"  thought  Guenn, 
"  how  beautiful  his  smile  is  !  and  Thymert  was  hasty  ; 
he  is  often  hasty  with  monsieur." 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  three.  Great  gusts  of  wind 
went  sweeping  down  the  long  passages  under  the  eaves ^ 
ratthng  the  ladders,  ropes  and  oars,  and  ending  in 
a  strange  wailing  sound.  Little  Erec  sprang  up  from 
his  sleep,  and  old  Brigitte  rushed  in  with  a  frightened 
face. 

"Za  hrouette  de  la  Mort!  "  she  cried,  crossing  herself. 

Thymert  and  Guenn  crossed  themselves  also.  The 
cure  opened  the  door,  letting  in  a  fierce  blast  of  wind 
that  filled  the  whole  chapel,  and  shook  the  banners  of 
Our  Lady  and  the  vestments  in  the  sacristy.  On  the 
porch  he  stood  and  looked  anxiously  over  to  the  Ci- 
gogne.  "  Not  jxt,  not  j^et,"  he  murmured,  returning 
to  the  others. 

The  three  sat  waiting  for  the  summons.  Guenn's 
3'oung  face  soft,  tender,  and  solemn.  Hamor  too  was 
gentle  and  sohcitous,  as  he  sat  silently  by  the  table, 
watching  Guenn  knitting  steadily,  and  the  pretty  effect 
of  her  coiffe  in  the  candleUght.  He  had  never  seen  her 
so  charming,  in  the  fine  and  womanly  sense,  as  she 
was  to-night.  Odd,  too,  that  she  should  be  so  quiet 
and  thoughtful,  sitting  at  this  very  table  where  he  and 
the  other  men  had  talked  of  her  beauty  and  wildness. 
Hamor  was  extremely  sorry  for  the  cure,  who  evi- 
dently was  taking  the  loss  of  his  old  fisherman  sorely 
to  heart. 

Thymert  came  in  and  out,  his  face  quiet  now,  but 


GUENN,  355 

with  the  trouble  still  in  his  eyes.  He  glanced  often  at 
Guenn,  and  seemed  to  find  comfort  in  seeing  her  there ; 
while  she  listened  to  the  shrieking  winds  and  the  in- 
cessant roar  of  the  waves,  and  thought  of  ships  in 
peril,  and  heard  death-calls,  and  wondered  if  Nannie 
was  asleep,  and  remembered  how  old  Jean  looked  the 
last  time  she  had  seen  him,  and  felt  pit}'  and  awe  for 
the  soul  about  to  pass  awa}^,  and  wished  Thymert  would 
not  be  quite  so  sorrowful,  and  longed  with  a  good  will 
to  help  him ;  yet  all  the  time  there  was  deep  happiness 
in  her  heart,  for  monsieur  was  looking  at  her  kindl}^ 
He  was  pleased  with  her,  the  great  picture  had  gone 
well ;  and  stronger  than  the  excitement,  than  her  sympa- 
thy and  generous  affection  for  Thymert,  and  her  many 
pitying  thoughts,  was  the  sweet  sense  of  the  painter's 
presence. 

Thymert  stood  constantl}'  at  the  porch  now,  the 
storm  beating  in  his  face.  "  My  poor  old  Jean,"  he 
murmured  often,  "  I  know  you  are  going  to-night. 
They  are  wrong  if  they  think  3'ou  can  last  till  to-morrow. 
I  shall  come  to  3"ou,  whether  I  see  the  signal  or  not." 

Suddenl}',  beyond  the  near  impenetrable  darkness 
and  the  mighty  waves,  far  up  into  the  black  heavens 
shot  a  fiery  flash. 

Thymert  returned  to  the  room  where  the  two  sat 
waiting.  "  They  have  called  me,"  he  said ;  "  they 
have  sent  up  the  rocket  from  the  fort."  He  laid  his 
hand  on  Guenn's  head,  as  if  to  protect  or  bless  her. 
His  face  was  perfectly  calm,  now  that  the  dying  maq 
needed  him.  "Must  3'ou  come,  my  child?"  he  said. 
*'  It  is  a  terrible  night." 

"  Yes,"  Guenn  answered  resolutely,  rising  and  pin- 
ning a  shawl  over  her  head. 

*'  Come,  then,  both  of  you,"  returned  the  priest. 


356  GUENJSr. 

Again  the  winds  swept  along  the  eaves,  and  the 
strange  rattle  and  wail  sounded  high  in  the  air.  ' '  La 
brouette ! "  whispered  Guenn,  raising  her  ej'es  and 
crossing  herself. 

''It  is  time,"  said  the  priest,  and  went  to  the  sac- 
TLsty.  Having  secured  in  his  breast  the  precious  case 
containing  the  viaticum,  he  hastil}"  wrapped  his  stole 
in  tarpaulin,  thrust  it  into  an  inner  pocket,  seized 
a  lantern  from  Brigitte  and  led  the  way  down  to  his 
boats.  "Hold  the  lantern,"  he  said  to  Guenn;  to 
Hamor,  "  Help  me  turn  her  over." 

The  boat  was  under  cover,  yet  nearly  full  of  water. 
It  was  a  species  of  life-boat,  which  Thymert  used  when 
no  sail  could  live.  The  two  men  took  the  oars  ;  Guenn, 
her  lantern  hung  on  her  arm,  the  tiller.  The  start 
seemed  an  impossibility.  Again  and  again  the}'  were 
washed  back  upon  the  Loch,  almost  to  the  one  dimly 
lighted  window  of  the  chapel. 

Another  rocket  went  up  from  the  Cigogne  fort. 
Th^^mert  bowed  his  head  in  brief  pra3'er  to  Our  Lady 
of  the  Isles  ;  then  threw  it  back  grandl}',  set  his  mouth 
in  sternness,  and  exclaimed  with  a  kind  of  strange  hea- 
then intimac}-  with  the  angr}-  powers  of  nature  :  "  And 
you  think  then,  3'ou  will  keep  me  from  him  —  his  cure 
from  a  dying  man  ?  Are  3^ou  angry  that  you  did  not  get 
him?  Are  3^ou  seeking  him  still?  Trul}-,  poor  Jean 
would  have  wished  to  die  at  sea,  and  not  in  his  bed. 
But  Our  Lad}^  willed  otherwise.  Que  voulez-vous  ?  Let 
me  go  on,  I  say  !  " 

Hamor  heard  him  with  a  thrill  of  delight.  The  prim- 
itive nature  of  the  strong  man  seemed  to  be  asserting 
itself  under  excitement ;  he  chided,  defied,  and  sought 
to  pacify  the  waves,  as  if  they  were  angry  friends  clam- 
oring around  him. 


GUENN.  357 

The  boat  breasted  those  first  opposing  breakers, 
and  reached  a  safer  current  between  two  islands. 
It  was  a  hard  pull ;  but  the  two  men  were  powerful, 
and  Thj^mert  knew  his  waters  as  a  farmer  knows  his 
field-paths.  Arriving  at  the  Cigogne  they  met  with 
great  difficulties  in  landing,  but  were  finally  run  vio- 
lently up  on  the  sands,  where  half-a-dozen  men  with 
lanterns  caught  and  held  the  boat  before  the  next  wave 
could  wash  her  back. 

"Ah,  monsieur  le  recteur,  thank  God  that  you  are 
here.     He  is  going  fast,"  announced  one  of  the  sailors. 

"  Is  his  poor  arm  still?  "  asked  Guenn  pitifully.     • 

"Yes,  he  cannot  raise  it;  but  his  hand  lies  on  his 
breast,  and  his  forefinger  makes  the  tic-tac,  tic-tao 
feebly.  He  thinks  he  's  a  clock.  He  's  running  down 
fast,  brave  old  Jean  !  " 

The  rude  little  house  was  full  of  people,  and  Jean's 
friends  crowded  about  the  door.  His  dog  was  howling 
incessantl3^ 

Thymert  stooped  and  entered  the  small  doorway. 
With  a  silent  greeting  to  the  family  he  went  to  the 
bedside  of  the  dying  man,  looked  at  his  face,  felt  his 
pulse.     "  Do  you  know  me,  Jean?  " 

Jean  opened  his  glazed  eyes.  "Yes,  I  know  j'ou. 
Tic-tac,"  he  whispered,  feebly  moving  his  finger. 

The  priest  motioned  the  family  to  leave  the  room, 
and,  leaning  over  the  old  man's  pillow,  heard  his  whis- 
pered last  confession,  tenderly  aiding  the  feeble  memory 
and  faltering  voice  ;  while  the  storm  howled  fiercely, 
and  every  listening  ear  heard  the  rolling  and  rattling 
brouette  de  la  Mort,  driven  by  skeletons,  circling  round 
the  island  in  the  tempest,  and  waiting  for  the  soul  of 
the  dying  man.  Briefly  the  priest  performed  the  last 
rites  of  the  Church,  taking  from  the  little  casket  on  his 


358  GUENN. 

breast  the  holy  oil  and  the  blessed  sacrament.  The 
others  had  stolen  back  into  the  room.  Hamor  stood 
with  some  men  in  the  doorwa}',  watching  Thj'mert  as 
he  leaned  like  a  pitting  angel  over  old  Jean,  but  with 
a  power  of  human  sj'mpathy  and  suffering,  brooding 
in  his  passionate  ejes,  such  as  no  angel  could  ever 
have.  The  candles  flickered.  Jean's  dog  howled  cease- 
lessl}".  His  old  wife  and  the  other  women  wept  and 
wailed  aloud.  Strange  shadows  flickered  about  the 
dusky  little  room,  reaching  up  to  the  rudely  carved 
ship  on  the  wall,  and  the  two  large  shells  Jean  had 
brought  home  from  the  Indies  fifty  3'ears  ago. 

"If  I  could  save  3'ou,  m}^  poor  old  Jean,  if  I  could 
give  3^ou  m}^  3'outh  and  strength  !  "  and  Th3'mert  3'earned 
over  the  departing  spirit.  He  loved  ever3^  man  of 
them,  would  have  given  his  life  to  save  an3"  life  on  his 
islands.  But  he  was  helpless  here.  He  too  heard  the 
brouette  sweeping  tkrough  the  angr3'  heavens,  above 
the  fisherman's  hut. 

Jean  opened  his  eyes  with  a  faint  glance  of  troubled 
intelligence.  Th3'mert  bent  lower.  "  At  sea,"  mur- 
mured the  dying  lips  of  the  old  sailor. 

"  He  would  rather  die  at  sea,  not  in  this  cage.  Who 
would  not  indeed  ?  "  thought  the  priest.  ' '  But  they 
have  come  for  you  in  a  storm,"  he  said  distinctly,  — 
"  the  storm,  the  storm,  Jean  !  " 

A  wild  gust  shook  the  house.  One  instant  Jean 
seemed  to  listen,  to  hear  its  message  from  the  free  life 
of  long-ago,  to  find  some  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
the  storm  had  come  to  seek  him ;  then  all  recognition 
faded  out  of  his  weather-beaten  face.  The  weary 
finger  began  its  feeble  tic-tac,  but  the  lips  never 
spoke  again.  Thymert  pityingly  took  in  his  own  warm 
grasp  the  poor,  hard-working  hand,  —  working  its  way 


GUENN,  359 

even  into  the  world  beyond,  — felt  its  fluttering  pulse, 
laid  it  tenderl}'  on  the  old  man's  breast.  "  Rest,  broth- 
er," he  whispered.  The  hand  was  still  at  last.  Time 
had  ceased  for  old  Jean. 

Guenn  was  standing  against  the  wall,  controlling 
herself  stiffly,  feeling  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  The 
light  fell  on  Hamor's  face  in  the  doorway  ;  but  even  that 
could  not  help  her  grief  for  the  old  fisherman,  her  re- 
bellion against  the  mystery  of  suffering  and  death. 
"Why  need  it  be  so?"  thought  the  young  girl. 
*'  And  if  he  is  going  to  be  happy  in  heaven,  still,  why 
need  it  be  like  this  here  ?  " 

Thymert's  eyes  sought  hers.  Guenn  stepped  forward. 
*'  Did  you  ever  before  see  a  man  die?  "  he  said,  softly. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  with  a  shudder.  Jean's  uncon- 
scious breath  was  laboring  still. 

"  But  one  must  see  this  too,"  he  said,  solemnly.  His 
loving,  pitying  soul  shone  out  and  illumined  his  dark 
face.  He  looked  about  the  fisherman's  home  with  un- 
speakable affection,  yearning  to  save  his  poor  folk  from 
sorrow  and  pain.  There  was  a  grandeur  in  his  pres- 
ence, a  loftiness  which  impressed  Hamor  profoundly. 

"  He  is  an  angel,  our  cure,"  said  one  of  the  rough 
men  by  the  door.  "Jean's  soul  is  going  easily, 
because  the  cure  is  there.  See  !  He  does  not  struggle 
now." 

"  I  tried  the  smoke  to-day,"  muttered  another.  "  It 
went  up  every  time.  There  is  no  doubt  about  Jean. 
His  soul  will  go  up." 

"Jean  was  a  brave  fellow.  Of  course  the  smoke 
went  up.  What  could  the  devil  do  with  a  good  Breton 
sailor?     Our  Lady  rest  his  soul !  " 

The  youngest  grandchild,  a  mere  baby,  began  pull- 
ing at  Guenn's  skirts,  whimpering  in  a  neglected  man- 


360  GUENN, 

ner.  She  stooped  and  lifted  the  little  thing.  It  was 
cold  and  wet,  from  creeping  near  the  door  where 
the  rain  swept  in.  The  young  girl  laid  it  on  her 
breast,  covered  it  with  her  shawl,  and  clasped  it  close. 
It  gave  a  little  contented  sigh,  and  fell  asleep  in  the 
pleasant  warmth.  Guenn  stood  very  still,  for  fear  of 
waking  it.  One  small  helpless  hand  on  her  neck,  and 
the  little  drooping  head  on  her  shoulder,  gave  her  a 
strange  sense  of  comfort. 

When  the  last  prayers  for  the  departed  soul  had  been 
spoken,  Th3^mert  turned  and  saw  her  patiently  hold- 
ing the  heavy  child  in  her  arms,  her  face  drooping  ten- 
derly over  it,  almost  a  smile  on  her  lips.  The  others 
were  kneeling ;  only  Guenn  stood  erect,  for  fear  of 
waking  the  baby. 

The  men  were  talking  again,  their  great  voices  hushed 
in  awkward  but  sincere  respect   for  their  mate's  new 
honors.      The   women   were   indulging   in   loud   weep- 
ing.     Guenn    was    silent,   motionless,  a  deep  thought- 
fulness  in  her   beautiful  eyes.     Jean  was  dead.      But 
Jean's  baby  grandson  nestled  on  her  shoulder,  and  the 
strongly  lighted,  dear  face  in  the  doorway  was  smiling 
warmly  upon  her.    Already  the  world  seemed  less  cruel. 
Thymert  looked  down  upon  her  one  instant,  then  said 
^ery  gravely:   "I  will  ask  the  sergeant's  wife  at  the 
Tort  to  take  care  of  you  till  morning." 
"  Ah,  but  I  would  rather  go  with  you  !  " 
"  You  are  to  sta}^,"  he  rejoined. 

His  tone  in  its  impressive  quiet  exerted  absolute 
command.  Here,  on  his  stern  islands,  surrounded  by 
the  fisher-folk  that  loved  him,  in  the  teeth  of  sorrow, 
povert}',  and  death,  he  was  supreme  master.  Here  at 
least,  no  stranger  could  outrank  him.  Guenn  jielded 
silently.     For  the  moment,  no  girl,  no  individual  affec- 


GUENN.  361 

tion,  pure  as  it  might  be,  moved  him.  All  his  being 
longed  to  expend  itself  at  any  sacrifice  upon  his  people. 
They  made  way  for  him  as  he  went  out  of  the  house 
into  the  roar  of  the  surf  and  the  winds,  then  back  to 
comfort  the  widow  and  children.  Thymert  comforted 
best  with  his  loving  ej'es.  He  was  not  adroit  in  the 
use  of  words,  and  in  his  simple  mind,  the  mysteries  of 
pain  and  death  had  never  resolved  themselves  into 
logical  clearness. 

Hamor,  with  his  intellectual  sympathy  and  artistic 
comprehension,  had  stood  unobtrusively  in  the  narrow 
doorwa}^,  watching  the  priest  as  he  smoothed  the  pil- 
low and  moistened  the  lips  of  the  d3'ing  man,  bending 
his  dark,  tender  face  over  him,  motioning  the  women 
to  be  more  quiet,  throwing  back  his  noble  head  as  he 
listened  to  the  mysterious  summoning  voices  of  the 
storm  and  the  night  and  the  surges,  turning  his  brown 
eyes  slowlj^,  with  ineffable  longing,  upon  the  whole 
meagre  interior,  loving  his  folk,  ready  to  suffer,  to  die, 
to  be  crucified  for  them  in  his  unspeakable  devotion. 

The  cold  spray  beat  sharp  as  hail  in  their  faces  as 
they  came  out  on  the  sands. 

"  Why  do  you  go  over  to-night,  monsieur  le  rec- 
teur?  "  asked  an  old  fisherman,  holding  his  lantern  low, 
as  they  made  their  way  down  the  rocky  path.  "  There 's 
not  a  roof  that  would  not  be  proud  to  shelter  you." 
*  "  The}^  are  restless  these  wild  nights,"  Thymert  re- 
plied, looking  at  the  man  earnestly. 

"Ah,  yes,  that  the}''  are,"  said  the  old  fellow  sym- 
pathetically, "  and  no  wonder." 

"  When  I  stand  there  among  the  crosses,  and  say  a 
pra^^er  for  them,  they  are  not  so  lonely,"  said  the  cure 
simply.  "I  never  leave  them  bad  nights,  you  know; 
God  rest  their  brave  souls  !  " 


362  GUENN, 

*'  Amen,"  returned  the  fisherman,  crossing  himsell 

Jean's  dog  was  silent  now,  and  the  brouette  de  la  M(.  t 
had  passed  with  the  old  fisherman's  weary  soul. 

The  wind  blew  the  foam  sharply  in  Guenn's  face. 
She  was  quite  wet  as  she  stood  there  while  they  got  the 
boat  ofl". 

"  You  can  stay  here,  too,  monsieur,"  Thymert  said 
to  Hamor.     "You  can  stay  perfectly." 

"No,  no!"  exclaimed  Hamor  warmly.  "Sink  or 
swim, — I'm  going  with  3'ou." 

Thymert  waved  his  hand  in  silent  suflerance. 

"  Good-night,  good-night,"  sounded  in  hoarse  cor- 
diality from  the  fishermen  ;  ' '  Our  Lady  bring  you  safe 
home  !  " 

"  Good-night,"  called  Guenn's  fresh  and  lovely  voice. 

"  Hurry  back  instantly,  Guenn,"  answered  Thymert ; 
"  3^ou  are  wet  tln'ough.  Good -night,  child;  sleep 
well." 

The  boat  rose  on  the  breakers,  and  the  next  f-ostant 
disappeared  in  the  darkness. 


■p!r^ 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

RODELLEC  refilled  the  mugs,  watching  Hoel 
closel}'.  "  Do  I  know  what  Ib  going  on  when  she 
stays  away  a  week?  " 

"  No,  you  don't,"  growled  Loic. 

Hoel  shook  his  head  dubiousl}'.  It  was  curious  how 
unconvinced  his  weak  brain  remained,  in  spite  of  Ro- 
dellec's  arguments. 

"  Did  she  ever  go  off  and  stay  a  week  before  ?  " 

'^  No,  she  never  did,"  responded  Loic. 

"  But  she  came  home  every  night,  and  monsieur  le 
recteur  was  looking  after  her,"  Hoel  suggested  feebly ; 
*'  where 's  the  harm?  " 

"  Hoel,"  said  Rodellec  impressively,  "  I  am  a 
father  —  " 

' '  For  all  of  me  !  "  Hoel  ejaculated  desperately ; 
*'  only  Jeanne  Ronan  told  me  3'ou  let  Guenn  go  your- 
self, free  and  wilUng  ;   and  that 's  the  truth." 

"  Jeanne   Ronan,"    said   Rodellec    slowly,    smiUng, 


364  GUENN. 

raising  his  eyebrows,  shrugging  his  broad  shoulders^ 
and  throwing  back  his  leonine  head. 

"  Jeanne  Ronan,"  echoed  Loic,  repeating  the  dispar- 
aging pantomime. 

Rodellec  refilled  the  mugs.  The  three  men  sipped 
their  grog  in  silence,  eying  each  other  expectantly  over 
the  pewter  rims. 

"  I  don't  say  I  was  the  happiest  man  in  Plouvenec," 
began  the  fair-skinned,  strong  man,  with  the  long  chest- 
nut hair  curling  about  his  shoulders;  "  Barba -^  Our 
Blessed  Lady  rest  her  soul  !  —  was  gone  ;  my  boy  was 
lame ;  but  my  girl  was  honest  and  steady."  He  re- 
lapsed into  an  eloquent  whimper. 

"Honest?  Steady?  I  should  say  as  much!  nicest 
little  girl  in  Plouvenec !  "  exclaimed  Hoel,  warming 
with  his  grog.  "  Fresh  as  a  cherry  blossom  and  fierce 
as  a  bramble.  No  nonsense  about  her.  I  'd  knock  the 
man  end  over  end  that  said  there  was  !  " 

"  I  don't  say  so."  Rodellec  changed  his  tone 
quickly  and  refilled  the  mugs.  "  I  only  say  that  cursed 
painter  has  bewitched  them  all." 

Loic  audibly  consigned  Hamor's  soul  to  an  undesir- 
able final  resting-place. 

"He  beckons,  she  comes;  he  lifts  his  finger,  she 
forgets  us,"  continued  the  father. 

Loic  groaned. 

"  That  gars  grins  and  shows  his  white  teeth,  my  girl 
follows  him  like  a  lamb.  She  leaves  her  home  ;  she 
rushes  off  before  da^ylight  to  the  islands.  I  say  it  bodes 
no  good.  Where  did  she  get  her  new  clothes  for  the 
Pardon?  She  won't  tell  me  :  is  n't  that  queer  ?  I  don't 
say  there 's  anything  amiss  ;  but  I  have  a  right  to  in- 
quire into  these  things.  I  am  a  father."  He  folded  his 
arms  and  looked  virtuous. 


GUENN.  365 

*'  Oh !  "  said  Hoel,  beginning  to  waver. 

"  Hoel,  I  would  n't  speak  of  this  to  any  one  else  ;  but 
a  friend  is  a  friend.     I  want  to  talk  this  matter  over 
quietly  and  calmly.     I  want  your  advice." 
'     Hoel  felt  flattered.     There  seemed  to  be  some  justice 
in  this. 

"  Mine  is  to  punch  his  damned  head  and  fling  him  off 
the  digue,"  Loic  said,  with  a  fierce  glow  in  his  jealous 
eyes. 

Rodellec  made  a  significant  warning  gesture  with  his 
finger  across  his  throat,  and  refilled  the  mugs. 

"  If  I  only  knew  what  he  had  done,"  remarked  Hoel, 
not  unreasonably. 

Rodellec  ignored  this  feeble  groping  after  the  truth. 
"  It  would  be  better,"  he  suggested  slowl}^,  "  to  happen 
to  meet  him  in  some  out-of-the-way  place  when  he 
comes  home  in  the  twilight.  If  there  's  a  quarrel,  and 
he  provokes  us  from  words  to  blows,  why,  you  see  we 
have  our  tale  to  tell,  whether  he  lives  to  tell  his  or  not. 
But  on  the  digue,  there  are  too  many  people.  Some 
fool  might  call  an  accident  by  an  ugly  name." 

A  pane  of  glass  in  this  back  room  behind  the  orange 
light  now  shivered  into  fragments,  and  a  stone  almost 
struck  Rodellec's  head.  With  an  oath  he  went  quickly 
to  the  window  and  looked  out ;  but  saw  nothing,  be- 
cause he  looked  too  far.  Crouched  in  complete  shadow 
close  against  the  house  lay  Nannie,  who  knew  how 
to  use  bold  measures  when  necessary. 

"  Those  —  bo3's  !  Little  th^j  care  where  their  stones 
strike,"  Rodellec  grumbled.  "  Well,  never  mind.  As 
I  was  saying,  let 's  meet  him  coming  home  in  a  lane,  — 
a  little  dusk}^,  a  little  quiet,  a  fair  quarrel,  of  course,  — 
under  the  shadow  of  a  wall.  That 's  where  I  'd  like  to 
spoil  his  grin,  and  no  questions  asked." 


366  GUENN. 

''But  a  fair  quarrel,"  Hoel  repeated  with  anxious 
emphasis. 

"  To  be  sure,  man,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Rodellec,  refill- 
ing the  glasses  and  winking  at  Loic.  "  Have  I  ever 
said  an3'thing  else  ?  " 

Hoel,  at  last  rendered  receptive  to  Rodellec's  ideas, 
became  wildly-  eager  to  ofi'end,  injure,  and  exterminate 
the  foreign  gars.  But  this  condition  of  mind  necessi- 
tated much  previous  refilling  of  the  mugs,  Rodellec 
knew  well,  and  was  moreover  fleeting  as  the  fumes  of 
grog  that  produced  it.  Hoel  possessed  that  kind  of 
weakness  which  is  less  easy  to  master  than  strength. 
It  3'ields  and  agrees ;  but  in  the  moment  3^ou  need  its 
support,  you  discover  that  j'our  eloquence  has  been  in 
vain,  and  that  you  have  not  advanced  an  inch  on  your 
projected  path.  Rodellec's  cause  was  bad  ;  but  Hoel's 
instability  would  have  been  a  no  less  confusing  factor, 
had  the  end  in  view  been  creditable.  The  man  had  a 
reputation  for  harmlessness  which  neither  Rodellec  nor 
young  Nives  could  boast.  The  latter  had  been  in- 
volved in  several  bad  affairs  where  knives  were  too 
quickly  drawn  and  too  cruelly  used,  and  man}'  episodes 
in  his  short  but  varied  career  were  hushed  up  hy  neigh- 
bors and  friends.  As  for  Rodellec  himself,  no  one 
posed  more  for  the  franc  Breton  than  he,  and  being 
prominentl}-  jovial  among  his  men  friends,  the  rough 
folk  about  him  did  not  concern  itself  much  with  his 
buried  past.  Yet  there  were  half-forgotten  tales  al- 
luded to  when  drink  and  anger  loosened  the  tongue  of 
some  man  who  had  known  him  in  his  uncurbed  youth, 
tales  which  a  public  imprudence  might  at  any  time 
revive  unpleasantly.  Rodellec  would  not  have  cared 
to  be  cross-examined  in  regard  to  the  smugglers  on  the 
Gavrinz ;  and  nothing  would  have  been  less  congenial 


GUENN.  367 

to  him  than  a  vivid  recoloring  of  a  certain  picture  in 
his  memor}^  dulled  b}-  time  and  insensibility,  but  still 
capable  of  producing  a  glaring  and  painful  effect.  A 
storm,  a  wreck,  fierce  men  with  lanterns  on  a  rough 
coast  greedil}'  seizing  what  the  waves  brought.  Surely 
what  the  angry  sea  laid  at  their  feet  was  their  own, 
the  wreckers  reasoned.  The  sea  had  taken  from  one 
crew  and  given  to  another.  Who  could  gainsay  the 
sea  in  its  wrath?  Yet  to  snatch  a  casket  from  a  jaded 
swimmer's  breast,  and  knock  him  over  the  cruel  rocks 
back  into  the  angry  waves,  where  he  had  struggled  so 
manfully  for  his  life,  and  a  mere  finger's  touch  would 
have  helped  him  to  the  safe  shore  — WeU,  Rodellec 
was  young  in  those  days  it  is  true,  and  the  men  were 
rough  and  not  rigid-righteous ;  but  many  years'  hypoc- 
risy was  needed  before  he  could  fairly  retake  his  place 
among  them.  "It  was  a  bitter  night,"  he  said.  "I 
had  been  working  hard.  The  liquor  went  to  my  head. 
You  know  how  it  is  yourself.  I  never  knew  what  I  did. 
Don't  let  us  talk  about  it.  God  rest  his  soul ! "  So 
he  spoke  to  his  cronies,  and  Hoel  for  one  always  be- 
lieved him. 

There  was  a  mystery  connected  with  Rodellec's  wife's 
last  illness,  and  an  uncertainty  in  regard  to  the  cause 
of  Nannie's  lameness  ;  but  the  marital  and  paternal 
right  to  enforce  authority  with  a  blow  was  not  in  gen- 
eral disputed  in  Plouvenec  —  certainly  never  so  strongly 
resented  that  a  little  more  or  less  violence  in  this  re« 
spect  would  be  apt  to  make  a  sensation.  Then  what 
we  beheve  or  do  not  beUeve  of  our  neighbors  seems 
often  a  matter  of  accident  or  imagination  rather  than 
of  judgment.  We  assume  that  most  incredible  things 
are  true  of  strangers,  and  deUght  in  positively  knowing 
thoughts  and  motives  whi^h  it  would  seem  only  the  eye 


368  GUENN. 

of  omniscience  could  discern ;  but  we  are  blind  where 
we  wish  to  be  blind,  and  refuse  to  recognize  the  exist- 
ence of  facts  that  stand  like  granite  monuments  in  our 
daily  path. 

Rodellec  had  an  evil  but  a  quiet  conscience.  He  did 
not  intend  to  disturb  the  stagnant  pools  of  his  memory. 
There  being,  as  he  said,  lanes  and  twilights  enough  at 
his  disposition,  he  was  determined  to  gratify  his  desires 
without  compromising  himself  too  seriously,  and,  above 
all,  not  to  move  in  the  matter  without  Hoel.  Had  Hoel 
been  with  them  that  night,  the  granary  would  have 
blazed  up,  he  was  fully  persuaded ;  but  old  Morot,  and 
that  fellow  with  the  ghastly  white  face  in  the  waves, 
and  Loic's  Spanish  sailor,  made  a  spiritual  alliance 
against  them  too  strong  to  be  overcome.  Strange  that 
a  little  slip  could  have  such  far-reaching  consequences, 
and  stranger  still  that  the  murdered  dead  should  hang 
together  in  this  clannish  fashion.  Well,  they  were 
none  of  them  at  swords'  points  with  Hoel.  Hoel  had 
better  take  his  turn  and  have  his  little  experience, 
Rodellec  reflected  smihngly,  showing  his  agreeable 
white  teeth. 

Hamor,  in  the  mean  time,  went  whistling  through  the 
lanes,  and  singing  through  the  twiUghts,  and  made 
friends  ever3^where.  One  could  with  difficulty  have 
persuaded  him  that  he  had  foes.  So  harmless,  so 
kindly,  so  considerate  a  man  as  he?  Absurd.  He 
was  conscious  of  having  done  faithful  and  creditable 
work.  The  picture  for  the  Salon  was  well  along.  It 
was  now  December,  and  he  had  until  March  to  finish 
it.  He  had  put  it  aside  for  a  time,  studying  it  each 
day,  but  doing  no  actual  work  upon  it  until  his  im- 
pressions  should   be   again   quite  fresh.     Guenn  was, 


GUENN.  369 

however,  every  daj^  in  the  studio,  for  he  never  knew 
at  what  moment  he  might  be  moved  to  need  her  again. 
She  posed  frequently  for  Staunton  in  the  room  below. 
He  found  her  restless,  and  complained  that  her  mouth 
had  a  way  of  growing  heavy  when  he  kept  her  long ; 
but  he  paid  small  attention  to  his  models  in  these 
days,  for  at  Christmas  he  was  going  to  marry  the  httle 
Danish  artist.  He  was  so  much  in  love  that  the  vision 
of  two  painters  under  one  roof  seemed  to  him  the  most 
natural  and  charming  prospect  imaginable ;  and  the 
conventional  and  cautious  Staunton  was  about  to  flatly 
contradict  his  traditions,  and  marry,  for  pure  love,  a 
simple  girl  without  family  or  prestige,  of  whose  ante- 
cedents he  knew  nothing.  But  perhaps  we  are  truer 
when  we  most  inconsistently  contradict  ourselves,  than 
when  we  fully  coincide  with  what  the  world  has  made 
us.  Hamor  and  Douglas  rubbed  their  hands  in  delight 
over  Staunton's  condition,  but  being  men,  did  not  jeer 
at  his  new  departure. 

Hamor  was  also  occupying  himself  with  various 
ebauches  of  Thymert.  He  decided  that  something 
acutely  human  would  best  represent  the  man,  —  a 
motive  full  of  tangible  emotion.  There  was  a  rockj^, 
sandy  point  opposite  Plouvenec,  which  he  had  studied 
several  times.  He  was,  in  fact,  coming  up  from  it  the 
day  Guenn  had  sculled  him  across  the  ferry.  A  ship- 
wreck —  indicated  of  course  —  might  be  interesting, 
and  this  strong  man  in  intense  grief  beside  the  body  of 
some  one  he  loved,  —  his  friend  or  his  wife.  Thymert 
should  be  half-stripped,  his  hand  clutching  the  sand, 
his  face  set  in  agon}^  looking  into  his  lost  past.  Should 
it  be  a  friend  closer  than  a  brother,  whom  he  had  tried 
to  save,  or  should  it  be  a  woman  ?  Hamor  considered. 
There  was  something  to  be  said  on  both  sides.      He 

24 


370  GUENN. 

enjoyed  nothing  more  than  the  fanciful  building  up  of 
motives.  He  erected  and  destroyed  scores  of  such 
castles  ever}"  da3\ 

One  morning  Douglas  was  with  him,  and  Guenn  sat 
knitting  in  a  window-seat.  It  was  raining  hard ;  but 
the  sky  looked  promising,  and  the  painters  were  hoping 
to  be  able  to  w^ork  out  of  doors  in  the  afternoon. 
"Come,  Guenn,"  said  Hamor,  suddenly,  "just  take 
off  3'our  coiffe  a  moment,  and  lie  down  there  on  your 
face,  with  3'our  arms  stretched  out.  I  '11  show  you 
how." 

Guenn  did  not  move. 

"  Did  n't  you  hear?  "  he  said  pleasantly.  "  Shp  all 
your  head-gear  off,  please.  I  wish  to  try  an  effect  of 
drowned  maiden's  hair,  Douglas.  It  would  have  to  be 
wet,  3'ou  know,  —  quite  wet,  if  I  should  reall3-  paint  her. 
I  'm  not  sure  but  I  prefer  the  man.  There  's  something 
stronger  in  man's  friendship.  At  least  it  always  moves 
me  more." 

"You  prefer  Da^dd  and  Jonathan  to  Romeo  and 
Juhet  then  ?  "  drawled  Douglas. 

' '  Much,"  answered  Hamor  ;  then  for  the  first  time 
looked  up,  surprised  at  Guenn's  dela3^ 

She  sat  perfectl3'  still  in  the  window,  her  e3'es  cast 
down,  her  cheeks  crimson. 

"  Come  here,  Guenn,"  he  said. 

She  came  obedientl3'  to  his  side,  but  did  not  raise  her 
eyes. 

The  Puritan  look  appeared  in  Hamor' s  face, — nar- 
row, reproidng,  honest,  and  mistaken.  "  Guenn,  I  cer- 
tainly have  not  been  inconsiderate  of  3'our  Breton  ways 
and  national  prejudices.  But  I  think  after  this  long 
time,  knowing  me  as  well  as  3'ou  do,  you  ought  not  to 
hesitate  to  show  me  3'our  hair,  if  I  wish  it.    Jeanne  OT 


GUENN,  371 

Victoria  would  obey  me  instantly.  You  should  surely 
know  by  this  time  that  to  us  painters  j'our  hair  is  no 
more  than  3'our  face,  whatever  your  Breton  idea  ma}^  be." 

Still  Guenn  waited,  breathing  fast,  clasping  her  hands 
convulsively,  her  long  lashes  drooping. 

Hamor  thought  her  unreasonable  and  obstinate. 

Douglas  looked  up  from  his  work.  "  Oh,  come  now, 
let  her  go  ;  they  have  their  notions,  you  know,"  he  said 
kindly. 

"My  model  is  my  model,"  Hamor  replied  stiffly. 
' '  The  girl  has  the  most  beautiful  hair  I  ever  saw.  I 
have  treated  her  well.  Ver}^  few  men  are  as  careful  of 
models  as  I  am.  There  is  no  reason  under  the  sun 
why  she  should  not  take  off  her  coiffe." 

Douglas  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

''  Off  with  it,  Guenn.    If  you  don't  remove  it,  I  shall." 

She  did  not  stir,  but  the  muscles  round  her  mouth 
quivered,  and  she  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  once  to  his 
face,  with  no  reproach,  but  only  piteous  inquiry,  pain, 
and  utter  defeat  in  their  blue  depths.  "Was  I  mad 
then?  He  would  rather  have  had  the  hair?  Mon  dieu, 
mon  dieu  !  how  could  I  know  that  ?  He  did  not  care  for 
the  dancing  or  the  new  gown.  Now  he  wants  the  hair, 
and  I  have  none  to  please  him.  How  could  I  make 
this  terrible  mistake  ?  It  was  so  long  and  brown  and 
shining  and  wavy  ;  it  reached  quite  to  my  knees.  And 
now  he  needs  it,  and  I  have  none,  — not  even  what  the 
other  girls  have,  —  and  mine  was  the  prettiest !  If  Our 
Lady  would  only  make  it  grow  in  one  instant !  Or  if  I 
could  sink  into  the  earth,  before  he  sees  !  " 

"  Guenn,"  said  the  painter  kindly  but  seriously, 
"  we  won't  have  any  nonsense."  He  calmly  ap- 
proached, uniied  the  tape  wound  tightly  once  or  twice 
around  her  head,  then  removed  the  coiffe. 


372  GUENN. 

She  made  no  resistance.  Douglas  was  watching 
gravel}'.  Beneath  the  coiffe,  instead  of  the  usual  series 
of  close  caps,  was  but  one  cap,  which  Hamor  gently 
took  off.  No  one  could  resent  his  manner.  It  was  as 
fiiTQ,  dignified,  and  loft}'  as  that  of  a  judge  whom 
conscience  and  the  obligations  of  office  compelled  to 
pronounce  sentence  on  a  Massachusetts  witch  a  hun- 
dred years  ago.  But  the  judicial  merged  into  the 
boyish  as  he  took  one  step  back  and  exclaimed,  "By 
Jove ! " 

Anything  more  bewitching  than  the  little  head, 
drooping  before  him  in  utter  self-abasement,  no  man 
had  ever  seen.  Warm  and  moist  from  the  caps,  her 
hair  lay  flat,  like  a  baby's,  in  soft,  shining  rings. 

"  Upon  my  word  !  "  Hamor  ejaculated,  beginning  to 
laugh. 

Two  hot  tears  of  mortification  stole  into  Guenn's 
eyes. 

"  Well,  I  won't  laugh,"  said  the  painter  good-na- 
turedly;  "it's  pretty  as  it  is,  Guenn.  But  what  pos- 
sessed you  to  be  such  a  little  idiot  ?  I  tell  you  she  had 
the  most  superb  growth  of  hair  I  ever  saw,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Douglas.  "What  made  you  do  it?"  he 
asked  curiously.  He  was  speaking  kindly  now,  and 
Guenn  could  answer. 

"  I  wanted  some  money,"  she  muttered. 

"For  what?" 

"  For  the  Nevin  Pardon,"  she  replied  mechanically, 
with  a  strange  indistinctness  in  her  voice. 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  re- 
garding her  speculatively.  "  Well,  Guenn,  I  won't 
reproach  you."  He  felt  that  this  was  rather  magnani- 
mous, since  he  actually  at  this  moment  needed  her  lost 
locks.     "  It's  your  affair,  of  course.     Just  run  out  and 


GUENN.  373 

find  somebody  with  long  hair,  will  you  ?  sunny  brown, 
as  much  like  yours  as  possible,  —  and  a  long  kind 
of  girl,  if  you  can  find  her,  one  that  belongs  with  the 
hair,  you  know.  You  are  not  long,  but  your  lines  give 
the  eflfect  of  length.  Can  you  find  somebody  ?  "  he 
asked  carelessly. 

''  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  answered,  pulling  on  her  coiflfe  and 
turning  away.     Her  voice  sounded  hoarse. 

''  Guenn  !  "  called  Hamor,  as  she  reached  the  door,  — 
he  often  had  an  amiable  impulse,  —  "  3'ou  don't  mind 
my  laughing?  You  looked  like  such  a  babj-,  you  know. 
Of  course  you  have  every  right  to  cut  off  your  own  hair 
if  you  like.     You  are  not  cross  because  I  laughed?  " 

*'  Oh,  no,  monsieur !  "  and  she  tried  to  smile. 

*'By  the  way,  if  you  send  somebody  along  for  an 
hour  or  so  now,  I  shall  not  need  you  any  more  to-day : 
I  shall  be  down  on  the  Point  until  dark.  Come  in  to- 
morrow, as  usual,  will  3'ou  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Guenn  faintly,  —  and  went  to  find  a  girl 
whose  hair  was  long  as  her  own  used  to  be.  It  seemed 
to  her  if  monsieur  had  not  turned  away  his  head  that 
day,  his  laugh  just  now  would  not  have  hurt  her  so 
much.  "  Lena's  hair  is  long  and  brown,  —  longer  than 
anybody's  since  I  cut  mine  oflT.  She  won't  want  to 
come,  but  I'll  make  her.  If  I  have  not  what  he 
needs,  I  must  find  somebody  who  has,"  she  moaned,  with 
a  grand  kind  of  reasoning  for  a  woman.  "  But,  oh,  my 
hair,  my  long,  pretty  hair  !  how  could  I  know  he  would 
need  it  some  day  ?  How  could  I  know  ?  "  And  she 
went  to  find  Lena. 

*'  Well,"  remarked  Hamor,  as  she  went  out,  "women 
are  all  alike.     If  it  is  n't  one  vanity,  it 's  another." 

^'  H'm,"  said  Douglas,  doubtfully,  "  I  don't  pretend 
to  know  much  about  them." 


374  GUENN. 

"  Without  conceit,  I  must  admit  that  I  think  I  do," 
said  Hamor. 

That  afternoon  he  went  down  to  the  Point,  and  in- 
tended when  it  grew  dark  to  come  home  the  long  way 
through  the  chemins  creux,  and  along  the  shore-road  to 
the  fevry.  But  happih^  just  as  he  was  obhged  to  stop 
work,  a  boat  appeared,  and  Meurice's  heart}^  voice 
hailed  him. 

Hamor  was  onlj^  too  glad,  after  a  busy  day,  to  take 
a  turn  on  the  ba}'.  He  came  back  to  dinner  in  high 
spirits  and  with  an  excellent  appetite.  It  struck  him 
that  it  was  odd  Meurice  happened  to  be  down  there 
contrary  to  his  habit,  but  he  forgot  to  ask  why.  Indeed 
it  was  a  matter  of  no  importance  whatever.  The  main 
thing  was,  that  he  had  had  a  charmingly  invigorating 
sail  in  the  dusk. 

Between  five  and  six  dense  darkness  prevailed  in  the 
lanes  through  which  Hamor  always  returned  from  the 
Point.  Behind  a  great  wall,  where  a  narrow  path  inter- 
sected a  broader,  stood  three  men. 

"  You  get  in  his  way,  and  when  he  objects,  trip  him 
up." 

"Accidentally  —  "  mumbled  Hoel.  The  ivy-leaves 
above  his  head  began  to  rustle  softly. 

"  However  you  like,"  Rodellec  answered  impatiently  ; 
*'  only  do  it."  He  had  heard  enough  of  Hoel's  scru- 
ples.    "  You  begin  ;  we  '11  finish." 

"  He's  late,"  grumbled  Loic  Nives. 

Presently  sabots  sounded  on  the  stepping-stones. 
"The  gars  walks  like  a  cat,"  thought  Hoel.  The  foot- 
steps came  nearer.  Hoel  peered  from  behind  the  cor- 
ner of  the  wall.  It  was  very  dark ;  but  surely  the 
painter  was  taller  than  this.  Rodellec  from  behind 
gave  an  impatient  signal.     "  It  must  be  the  grog  that 


GUENN.  376 

makes  my  eyes  queer,"  thought  Hoel,  rushing  violently 
against  the  advancing  person,  who,  however,  received 
him  with  a  very  well  aimed  blow  in  the  breast. 

*'Keep  to  3'our  own  side  of  the  road,  will  you?" 
called  a  girl's  voice,  angrily.  "  What  do  3'ou  mean,  — 
stupid  !  almost  knocking  a  body  down  ?  " 

"  The  devil !  "  exclaimed  Herve  Rodellec,  and  lighted 
his  lantern. 

' '  Where 's  your  milk-faced  painter  ?  "  demanded 
Loic,  furiously.  His  unguarded  words  were  checked 
too  late  b}^  Rodellec. 

Guenn  stood  looking  at  them  with  unutterable  scorn, 
measuring  them  from  head  to  foot.  ''  Oh  !  you  were 
waiting  for  Monsieur  Hamor,  were  you  ? "  she  said 
slowly.  "What  I  only  three?  Was  there  nobod}^  else 
to  keep  you  company  and  lurk  in  the  dark,  and  strike 
down  a  3'oung  fellow  that  comes  singing  along  the  lanes, 
because  he  's  got  a  good  conscience  and  never  did  any 
harm  to  an3'body  in  all  his  life  ?  " 

Hoel  felt  suddenly  sobered,  and  began  to  look  un- 
comfortable. Guenn  had  not  yet  glanced  at  her  father, 
who  was  wrathfully  considering  the  awkward  turn  of 
events. 

"  Who  told  you  we  were  waiting  for  Hamor?  "  Nives 
asked  sullenly. 

"  You  yourself  just  now,  Loic  Nives,  with  your  own 
stupid  tongue  !  "  she  answered  cleverly. 

He  could  not  deny  this,  and  cursed  his  awkwardness. 

"  Who  said  we  were  going  to  do  any  harm?"  asked 
Hoel,  in  his  weak  fashion. 

' '  When  three  men  —  like  you  —  hide  in  a  place  like 
this,  after  dark,"  —  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  signifi- 
cantly. 

"Now   see  here,"    Rodellec   at   last  began:    "you 


376  GUENN. 

can't  play  anything  off  on  us.  We  've  got  you  here, 
and  answer  j^ou  shall."  His  tone  was  so  rough  and 
threatening  that  even  Nives  stepped  forward  with 
some  auxiet}'. 

Guenn  folded  her  arms  across  her  breast,  and  looked 
calmly  at  her  father.  ' '  Now  I  must  be  wise  for  his 
sake,"  she  thought,  her  heart  beating  high  with  courage 
and  devotion.  The  evening  breeze  seemed,  curiously 
enough,  to  be  stirring  the  ivy-leaves  only  in  one 
spot. 

"  Don't  you  lie  now  !  " 

"  I  never  lie,"  answered  the  girl,  with  her  proud  air. 

''  Where  did  you  leave  him?  " 

"  Leave  whom?" 

"Don't  catechise  me!  You  know  well  enough, 
him,  —  the  painter,  —  Hamor,"  roared  Rodellec. 

"  In  his  atelier,  at  half-past  ten  o'clock  this  morning." 

He  thrust  the  lantern  close  to  her  face.  It  almost 
seemed  that  she  was  smiling. 

*'  Is  that  the  last  time  yo\x  saw  him?  " 

"Yes." 

Rodellec  threw  the  lantern  light  along  the  dark  roads, 
and  peered  suspiciously  in  every  direction. 

"You  needn't  think  he's  hiding!  You  needn't 
think  he  sent  me,  a  girl,  along  in  front  of  him.  He 
is  n't  a  coward !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  involuntary  but 
triumphant  emphasis. 

"Where  have  3'ou  been?"  Rodellec  continued  his 
cross-examination. 

"  Across  the  fields  to  Marie  Brenn's,"  she  returned 
promptly,  "  because  her  grandmother's  had  a  fall,  and 
Marie  has  double  work." 

"  Where 's  the  painter?  " 

"  I  heard  him  say  this  morning  that  he  was  going 


GUENN.  377 

down  on  the  Point.  I  told  you,  I  have  n't  seen  him 
since,"  she  rephed,  with  well-assumed  carelessness, 
standing  always  erect  before  them,  her  arms  folded,  her 
head  high,  her  eyes  fearless  and  watchful. 

' '  Are  you  going  to  tell  him  to-morrow  that  he  'd 
better  not  sing  along  lanes  after  dark  for  fear  of  spoil- 
ing his  voice?"  demanded  Nives,  jealous  and  angrj^ 

She  could  not  resist  a  mocking  reply.  ' '  If  you  don't 
do  more  harm  than  you  've  done  to-night,  I  shall  need 
to  tell  nothing  whatever." 

Her  father  leaned  towards  her  fiercely.  "And  if 
we  do?  " 

"  But  3'ou  won't,  you  know,"  she  said  nonchalantly. 

He  made  an  ugly  movement. 

"  Let  her  alone,  Rodellec.  She  is  n't  to  blame," 
urged  Nives,  brutal  himself,  but  j'oung  and  in  love. 

She  turned  towards  him  aggressively,  her  hands  on 
her  hips.  "  Suppose  3^ou  hold  yowY  tongue,  Loic"  Nives. 
Guenn  Rodellec  never  needed  such  as  3'ou  to  fight  her 
battles,  and  less  this  moment  than  ever  before.  I  de« 
spise  you  and  your  wa3-s,  and  I  '11  never  give  you  a 
decent  word  again  as  long  as  I  live  !  Skulking  behind 
a  wall.     Shame  !  " 

"  Stop  that,  you  vixen,"  interposed  her  father. 
"  Answer  me.  Did  you  tell  that  fool  not  to  come  home 
this  way  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  tell  Monsieur  Hamor,"  with  a  respectful 
intonation,  "  not  to  come  home  this  wa3\" 

"  Did  3'ou  tell  him  we  were  waiting  for  him?  " 

"  I  did  not." 

*'  Did  3'ou  know  we  were  waiting  for  him?  " 

Guenn  tossed  her  wisdom  and  coolness  to  the  night- 
winds.  She  flung  up  her  arms,  let  them  fall  with  her 
desperate  gesture,  and  said  hotly:   "Oh,  what  does  it 


378  GUENN. 

matter  what  I  know,  or  don't  know  !  1  know  there  *s 
mischief  brewing.  Is  n't  that  enough  ?  I  know  an 
honest  man 's  not  safe  to  go  his  own  way  and  think  his 
own  thoughts.  Isn't  that  enough?  I  know  three  Bre- 
tons—  Plouvenec  men,  good  sailors,"  —  her  voice  rose 
passionatelj'  with  every  word,  —  "  brave  enough  on  sea 
to  be  something  better  than  cowards  and  murderers  on 
land  —  are  standing  here  glaring  at  me,  a  girl,  as  if 
the}'  were  afraid  of  me,  because  their  hearts  are  blacker 
than  the  night  they've  chosen  for  their  dirty  work. 
That's  what  I  know.     Make  the  most  of  it!" 

"  Hush !  he  will  kill  you,"  cried  Hoel,  in  terror,  step- 
ping between  father  and  child,  as  Rodellec's  face  dark- 
ened with  rage. 

"  You  look  ashamed.  You  'd  better  go  home,  Hoel," 
she  retorted  contemptuously.  ''What  are  you  doing 
here  ?  Whether  I  am  killed  or  not,  I  don't  want  help 
from  a  man  who  sneaks  behind  a  wall,  ready  to  give  a 
blow  in  the  back,  —  a  dark  night,  in  a  lonel}'  lane  !  " 

"  Guenn,  little  Guenn,  pretty  little  lass,"  cried  Hoel, 
"  I  have  always  hked  3'ou,  I  always  took  your  part." 

"  Sneak,  I  say  !  "  she  rephed,  turning  her  back  upon 
him. 

In  some  way  the  3'oung  girl,  helpless  in  the  dark 
lane  before  these  men,  seemed  to  be  getting  the  better 
of  them. 

''  What  has  he  ever  done  to  any  of  you?  "  she  went 
on.  "  Nothing,  and  you  know  it !  Kill  me  if  you  will. 
Chop  me  up  in  little  pieces,  and  fling  me  over  the  wall ! 
What  do  I  care?  You  can't  frighten  me.  You  can't 
prevent  me  from  having  my  say.  You  have  had  yours," 
she  faced  her  father  directly-.  "I  never  told  of  you, 
so  help  me,  m}'  dead  mother.  But  you  've  made  me  an- 
swer before  these  men.     Now  answer  me  !  " 


GUENN.  379 

Before  the  imperious,  ringing  voice  ever}'  man  of 
tliem  felt  abashed.     Rodellec  was  the  first  to  rail}'. 

"  Look  here  now.    This  high  and  mighty  won't  do." 

"  I  want  to  know  what  he  has  ever  done  to  you,"  she 
persisted. 

"  This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  a  girl  trying  to 
confess  her  own  father,"  sneered  Rodellec.  "One 
thing  he's  done,  —  he 's  bewitched  you,  sure  enough. 
He  's  made  you  forget  what  a  steady  honest  girl  ouglit 
to  remember." 

"  He  has  n't,"  cried  Guenn,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  He 
never  did  anything  in  his  life  that  was  n't  good,  —  too 
good  for  such  as  you  to  understand !  " 

"  Guenn,"  said  Hoel,  timidly,  touching  her  in  an  in- 
gratiating manner  on  the  elbow,  "  don't  be  angry.  1 
don't  mean  any  harm,  you  know.  It  would  be  natural 
enough  for  any  man,  I  don't  deny,  —  sucli  a  pretty  little 
lass  as  you  are.  But  did  he  ever  —  kiss  you  —  quite 
accidental-like,  of  course?" 

"  He  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  superb  scorn  for  the 
question  and  questioner.  "  That  shows  how  mean  your 
thoughts  are.  He  !  —  he  never  thought  of  anything  so 
small  as  that.  He  only  thinks  of  sunsets  and  lovely 
colors,  and  great  drooping  trees  and  the  sea,  and  every 
little  flower  and  herb,  and  every  little  child's  face.  He 
has  a  kind  word  for  everybody,  and  a  beautiful  smile. 
When  the  old  men  and  women  sit  along  the  road  too 
weary  to  move,  the  sight  of  his  bright  face  is  a  rest  and 
a  comfort.  He  lifts  every  little  child  up  in  his  arms. 
He  cares  for  a  lame  dog,  for  a  tired  horse,  for  every- 
thing that  suflfers.  I  've  seen  him  look  sorry  for  a  faded 
rose.     And  you  —  cowards  —  hide  here  to  kill  him  !  " 

Her  clear  and  fresh  voice  rang  out  boldly  on  the  still 
night.     In  the  brief  pause  that  followed  her  indignant 


380  GUENN. 

words,  the  clr}^  leaves  rustled  continuously  above  he?? 
head. 

"  You  need  n't  shout  it  through  all  Cornouaille,"  Loic 
fluttered  suUenlj'. 

Rodellec  watched  her  with  his  evil  frown. 

"Well,  Guenn,"  began  Hoel  apologetically,  "tell 
us  one  thing.  I  've  heard  hints  for  weeks  ;  I  'm  tired 
of  hints.  Now  tell  me,  and  I  shall  know.  Who  gave 
you  3^our  fine  clothes  for  the  Pardon  ?  " 

In  an  instant  she  had  torn  the  coiffe  from  her  head. 
What  need  had  she  to  keep  her  secret  now  !  "  Oh,  that 's 
what 's  the  matter !  Look !  Enjoy  it !  I  cut  it  off 
myself.  It  was  the  prettiest  hair  in  Plouvenec,  the 
longest,  the  brownest.  Well,  I  cut  it  off  because  I 
wanted  to,  because  I  wanted  some  money.  Have  you 
men  who  hide  behind  walls  anything  to  say  against  that  ?" 

The  lantern-light  flashed  strongly  on  her  face  and 
slender  figure,  swaying  excitedly  as  she  spoke.  She 
was  vivid  as  a  flame  in  the  darkness.  The  men  stared 
at  her  in  amazement,  and  felt  ill  at  ease. 

She  passed  her  fingers  through  the  mass  of  short, 
closely  curling  hair.  "  There  it  is.  Look  at  it.  Look 
to  your  heart's  content."  She  turned  completely  round. 
"  Are  you  satisfied?     Then  I  '11  put  on  my  coiffe.'* 

"  What  I  want  to  know,  and  what  I  will  know,  is  how 
you  in  your  impudence  find  out  my  plans,"  said  Ro- 
dellec, with  a  great  oath. 

She  laughed  bitterlj'.  "Does  one  need  to  be  wise 
for  that?  —  when  you  three  leave  the  other  men  and 
whisper  together  nights,  when  you  scowl  at  Monsieur 
Haraor  crossing  the  common,  when  you  watch  every 
step  he  takes,  and  follow  him  when  he  stands  on  the 
edge  of  the  digue  smiling  in  the  starlight,  smiling  down 
on  the  water,  happy  with  his  beautiful  thoughts  ?  " 


GUENN.  381 

There  was  a  vigorous  rustling  in  the  great  ivy-vines 
on  the  wall. 

"  What  makes  you  watch  him  so  close  ?  "  sneered  her 
father. 

She  gave  a  little  start,  then  answered  coldly,  ' '  Every- 
body in  Plouvenec  knows  Guenn  Rodellec  likes  fair 
play  ;  I  wouldn't  see  a  dog  hurt  if  I  could  help  it." 

Her  father  looked  at  her  with  intense  suspicion, 
"There's  something  I  don't  get  at,"  he  muttered. 
' '  Have  you  ever  put  him  on  his  guard  against  us  ? 
Does  he  know  I  hate  him?" 

"If  he  knows,  it's  because  he  isn't  blind,  and  has 
seen  the  hate  in  3'our  eyes.  For  never  a  word  have  I 
told  of  what  I  see  and  know,  and  feel  all  the  time  in 
the  air.  But  he's  so  sunny-hearted  he  forgets,  and  so 
brave  he  does  n't  care  !  " 

"If  30U  are  lying  to  me!— if  3'ou  told  him  not 
to  come  back  by  this  lane  to-da}^ !  " 

"But  I  didn't,"  she  cried  vehemently,  "/tell 
against  Plouvenec  men,  unless  it  was  to  save  a  life?  I, 
Guenn  Rodellec,  say  to  a  strange  gars  that  three  Breton 
sailors  are  three  mean,  dirty  cowards?  I  would  bite 
out  my  tongue  first.  Can't  you  see  that  I  am  ashamed, 
deathly  ashamed  of  3'ou, — ashamed  of  mj^self  for  be- 
longing to  you?  I  would  rather  die  than  tell  such  a 
thing  to  him, — than  put  anything  so  ugly,  so  like  a 
creeping  slimy  snake  among  his  beautiful  white  thoughts. 
Oh,  it  is  no  use  talking  about  him  to  you,"  she  said,  with 
disdain.  "You  can't  understand.  You  crawl  in  the 
dirt.  He  is  up  among  the  clouds.  His  Hfe  is  as  far 
from  3'ours  as  heaven  from  earth.  Don't  I  know? 
Haven't  I  seen,  day  by  day?  And  I  didn't  know  at 
first ;  I  did  not  understand.  I  was  like  you  —  except," 
haughtily,  "I  never  was  a  coward.     And  because  he  is 


382  GUENN. 

good  5'ou  hate  him  !  Because  ever3^body  loves  him ; 
because  he  is  kind  to  all  Plouvenec ;  because  he  does 
not  get  drunk,  and  lose  his  brain,  and  act  like  a  mad- 
man and  a  beast !  Because  he  works  harder  than  30U 
all,  early  and  late,  and  when  he  is  tired  and  discour- 
aged ;  for  I  know  when  he  is  that,  I  know  every  line 
of  his  face  —  and  he  is  patient,  he  does  n't  rave  and 
swear  like  3'ou.  Because  his  life  is  clean  like  his  hands, 
you  hate  him,  —  cowards  !  Oh,  I  was.  proud  of  my 
Plouvenec,  — and  now,  —  now —  I  am  ashamed  !  " 

There  was  a  most  persistent  rustle  of  dissatisfaction 
in  the  ivj'-leaves,  but  Guenn  paid  no  heed  to  that,  or  to 
her  father's  menacing  face. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  speak  now  !  "  she  said  ;  "  nobody  can 
stop  me.  I  did  n't  mean  to  speak  like  this  ;  but  j^ou  would 
make  stones  speak.  I  came  along  here  because  I 
thought  I  'd  find  out  exactly  how  bad  you  are  ;  but  I  '11 
tell  you  this  much,  Hoel,"  — she  laughed  scornfull}^, — "  if 
you  'd  run  against  Monsieur  Hamor  as  stupidl}'  as  you 
did  against  me,  he'd  have  flung  you  over  the  wall, 
—  easy  !  And  I  '11  tell  3'ou  again,  he  did  not  know  you 
were  waiting  for  him  here  ;  for  then  he  would  have  come 
along  the  lanes,  singing  louder  and  ga3'er  than  ever. 
That's  the  kind  of  a  gars  he  is  !  And  if  you  want  to 
know  about  me,  and  what  I  'm  going  to  do,  I  '11  tell  3'ou 
three, — straight  in  your  faces,  —  I  never  did  tell  of  you. 
She  who  is  gone  knows  that,"  —  facing  her  father  now 
squarel3\  "  I  never  knew  how  to  tell  of  3^ou."  A  great 
sob  broke  in  her  innocent  throat.  "  I  never  will  tell  of 
you  if  I  can  help  it ;  but  I  will  keep  jom  from  harming 
a  hair  of  his  head.  I  shall  find  you  out,  whatever  3'ou 
do.  I  will  stand  between  him  and  you.  I  would  never 
have  stood  against  a  Plouvenec  man  in  a  fair  fight 
with  an3^  stranger   living,  not  even  him ;  but  cowards 


GUENN.  383 

and  murderers  sha'n't  have  their  way  with  a  man  Hke 
him,  — not  while  I  can  sp}'  out  their  wicked  plots,  and 
tell  them  to  their  faces  what  I  think  of  them,  —  as  I  tell 
you  now,  you  three  !  And  if  the  day  comes  when  I 
must  go  to  him  and  stand  before  him  (I  know  well  how 
he  will  look  that  day  with  his  high  head  and  smiling 
eyes) ,  if  I  must  say  '  Hoel  and  Nives  and  Rodellec  are 
howling  after  you,  like  wolves  thirsting  for  your  inno- 
cent blood,'  —  I  will  sa}^  it,  so  help  me  Our  Lady  of  the 
Isles.  If  you  act,  I  act.  If  you  are  quiet,  I  am  quiet. 
If  I  can  save  him  without  speaking,  I  will.  If  not,  — 
I  speak  !     I,  Guenn  Rodellec,  say  it ;  and  here  I  am  !  " 

*'  And  I,  Herve  Rodellec,"  began  her  father,  incensed 
by  her  open  defiance,  and  raising  his  brutal  fist,  when 
a  loud,  uneartlil}^  shriek  from  behind  him  stayed  his 
hand.  The  three  men  crossed  themselves,  and  Rodellec 
tremblingl}^  raised  the  lantern,  disclosing  on  the  very 
top  of  the  wall,  comfortably  extended  on  the  giant 
ivy-stems,  Nannie,  his  weird  face  strongl}^  lighted, 
his  head  and  supporting  arms  in  shadow,  his  body 
completely  out  of  sight. 

"Look!"  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the  opposite 
wall.  Rodellec  turned.  "  How  it  beckons,  beckons, 
beckons,  with  its  poor,  pale  arm  !  " 

A  dead  branch  was  moving  slightly  in  the  breeze  and 
tapping  on  the  granite.  In  the  dim  light  and  stillness 
it  was  not  diflflcult  for  e3^es  blinded  by  superstition  to 
see  whatever  was  expected  of  them. 

"A  Spanish  sailor  with  blood  upon  his  breast;  a 
white,  white  face  in  the  foam  ;  a  woman's  poor,  pale 
arm,"  chanted  the  child  on  the  wall. 

They  stared  as  if  under  a  spell,  crossed  themselves 
abjectly,  and  muttered  startled,  fragmentary  prayers. 
Guenn  smiled  gratefully  at  Nannie. 


384  GUENN. 

Rodellec  at  length  forced  a  laugh.  "It's  onl}'  his 
monke}- tricks,"  he  said  apologeticall}',  and  coughed. 

"  It  beckons  to  3'ou  with  a  lion}^  hand  !  "  warned  the 
solemn  voice  from  the  wall.  "  The  Spanish  sailor  looks 
at  Loic  ;  the  face  in  the  waves  at  you  —  at  3'ou."  There 
was  another  uncomfortable  pause. 

*'  You,  who  know  everything,"  remarked  Rodellec 
with  assumed  indifference,  and  anxious  to  change  the 
subject,  "  tell  us  where  Hamor  the  painter  is." 

"  Gone  out  for  a  sail  with  Meurice,  to  be  sure,"  an- 
swered Nannie  promptlj^  in  his  natural  voice,  and  with 
an  audacious  wink  at  Hoel.  His  change  of  tone  always 
made  his  audience  start,  a  circumstance  in  which  he 
took  great  delight. 

"If  that's  true,  we  might  as  well  go  home,"  mut- 
tered Nives. 

"  I  was  hoping  he'd  still  be  coming  along,  in  spite  of 
her  yarn,"  returned  Rodellec. 

"  I've  lost  my  appetite  this  time,  and  no  mistake,'* 
said  Hoel,  disconsolately. 

"You  are  ashamed  of  j'ourself,  Hoel,"  Guenn  said 
coolly  ;   "  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with  3'OU." 

"Well,  I  am,  and  that's  a  fact,  Guenn.  I  said  all 
along  I  wanted  a  fair  fight." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  fair  fights,  you  drivelUng 
coward !  " 

"We've  had  enough  of  3'ou,  do  3^ou  hear?  We 
don't  want  an3^  more  of  3'our  tongue  !  "  RodeUec  shout- 
ed angrily. 

"Very  good,"  rejoined  the  girl;  "but  what  my 
tongue  has  said  and  your  ears  liave  heard  is  true  this 
night,  and  true  for  all  m3^  life.  You  know  what  lies  be- 
tween us  ;  3'ou  know  what  to  expect.  Remember,  you' 
three !  " 


GUENN.  385 

"  Trust  me  for  not  forgetting  !  "  returned  her  father, 
with  a  threatening  look.  "It's  awkward,  this  busi- 
ness," he  began,  as  they  walked  along.  "  We  shall 
have  to  wait.  It  will  all  come  right  in  time ;  but  we 
must  wait  till  she  gets  over  her  tantrums.  Nice  brood 
I  've  got ;  the  devil  fly  away  with  them  !  Never  mind, 
Hoel,"  with  a  jovial  blow  on  his  friend's  shoulder,  "it 
was  n't  your  fault  that  the  canvas-dauber  was  n't  there. 
We  old  sailors  will  wait  for  the  tide  to  turn,  eh?  " 

"  No  boat  of  mine  sails  these  plagu}'  waters  again," 
Hoel  rejoined  morosel3^  "  Pretty  little  lass,  standing 
up  and  fighting  fair,  and  giving  it  to  us  as  hard  as  ever 
she  could !  No,  no,  Rodellec,  I  've  had  enough  of  it. 
Let  the  painter  go  ;  let  Guenn  have  her  way." 

"  We'll  see  ;  we'll  see,  old  man,"  returned  Rodellec 
consolingly. 

Nannie  climbed,  not  too  well  but  wisely,  down  the 
wall,  and  stood  beside  his  sister,  regarding  her  in  the 
dark  with  a  kind  of  compassion.  "  Girls  are  fools,"  he 
remarked  impressively.  It  was  merel}^  his  way  of  say- 
ing, "  You  have  had  trop  de  zele." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered  with  meekness  ;  "  but 
don't  mind,  Nannie.  I  could  n't  hold  back  any  longer  ; 
I  had  to  fly  at  them.     I  should  have  burst." 

"  You  began  decently,  but  spoilt  everything  when  you 
told  all  3'ou  knew.     Girls  always  tell  all  they  know." 

"  Do  the}'?"  she  answered  gently. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  sa}^  3'ou  threw  the  stone,  and  I 
crept  in  the  shadow  and  listened  ?  Why  did  n't  you  tell 
them  that  the  Lord  himself  does  n't  follow  them  closer 
than  I  do  ?  —  only  the  Lord  does  n't  stop  their  fun, 
and  I  stop  it  —  don't  I  ?  —  every  time.  Why  did  n't  you 
say  that  I  heard  them  again  that  night  on  the  digue, 
and  that  you  told  Meurice  to  go  for  monsieur  to-day, 

25 


386  GUENN. 

and  that  3'ou  can  wind  Meurice  round  3'our  finger  ?  Why 
did  n't  3-ou  tell  that  you  —  well,  j'ou  did  tell  that  pretty 
much,  and  if  their  brains  were  n't  as  dull  as  a  hoe  —  " 

"  Never  mind,  Nannie,"  she  begged  softly  ;  "  can  3'ou 
keep  him  away  from  me  to-night,  do  3'ou  think?  " 

"Don't  know.  He  never  was  madder;  he'll  come 
home  red-hot.  Perhaps  you  'd  better  sleep  at  Jeanne's, 
accidental-like^  as  Hoel  says."  He  laughed  contemp- 
tuousty. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  through  the  dark  lane. 
Guenn  slipped  her  hand  in  his. 

"It  would  be  a  pity  to  hurt  me,"  she  murmured, 
"  before  the  picture  is  quite  done,  —  a  great  pity." 

She  sighed  softly,  and  Nannie  chuckled  to  himself  in 
the  darkness,  as  he  limped  along  the  lane. 

' '  That  is  n't  the  only  pity,"  he  grumbled.  ' '  There 's 
a  great  deal  that 's  a  pity.  It's  a  pity  that  one  is  born. 
It 's  a  pity  that  one  must  hve.  It 's  a  pity  that  one 
must  die.  But  there 's  one  thing  that  is  n't  a  pity,  — 
that  there  are  fools  to  laugh  at.  I'm  going  to  laugh 
at  one  to-night.  You  sleep  at  Jeanne's  all  the  same. 
You  keep  out  of  the  way." 


CHAPTEE  XX. 


ICH  in  beaut}',  soft  in  tem- 
perature, the  Breton  win- 
ter wore  on.  Not  a  great 
distance  from  Paris,  yet 
the  heat  and  cold  of  the 
capital  in  its  extremes 
never  reached  the  mild 
Plouvenec  climate, — tem- 
pered, the  painters  be- 
lieved, into  moderation 
exclusively  for  their  needs. 
It  was  rarely  so  cold  that  they  could  not  sit  eight 
hours  in  the  open  air,  and  against  sabots,  corduroys, 
youth,  and  health  the  dampness  made  little  headway ; 
while  the  atmospheric  conditions  were  entrancing. 
A  painter  indeed  could  hardl}^  retain  his  sober  senses, 
and  could  be  excused  for  extravagant  language,  when, 
in  the  early  evenings,  all  things  were  so  submerged  in 
gleaming  opal  light,  that  even  the  gloomy  island  fortress 
was  forced  to  yield  to  the  soft  charm,  and,  suffused  with 
rose  color,  showed  that  it  too,  in  its  hard,  cold  way, 
was  looking  at  the  sunset. 

Staunton  married  the  little  Danish  girl  at  Christmas  ; 
and  a  month  after,  Douglas,  having  a  good  opportunity, 
went  to  Spain  with  a  friend.  These  changes  Hamor 
regarded  philosophieallj',  and  in  fact  was  no  less  happy 
now  that  his  evenings  were  not  enlivened  bv  scientific 


388  GUENN. 

whist.  On  the  contrary',  he  attached  himself  more  and 
more  to  his  queer  and  lonely  studio  ;  and  nights,  when 
winds  howled,  he  would  sit  alone  by  his  cheerful  fire 
reading  a  good  book,  absolutel}^  content  with  his  bach- 
elordom,  and  untroubled  by  the  world.  His  fire  was 
his  delight  and  pride.  He  heaped  upon  it  piles  of  broom 
and  indulged  in  genial  reminiscence  of  great  crackling 
camp-fires  of  pine-branches  at  home,  by  noble  Mt. 
Katahdin,  where  all  night  long  under  the  stars  he  had 
communed  with  friends.  He  remembered,  too,  camp- 
ing out  in  Western  woods,  and  one  special  fire  which 
he  had  guarded  night  and  day  for  weeks,  to  cheer  his 
hunter  and  guide,  suddenly  taken  ill  on  the  march. 
That  was  a  strange  experience,  Hamor  reflected,  as  he 
sat  one  evening  in  the  atelier.  "How  I  hunted  for 
him,  cooked  for  him,  cared  for  him !  How  gratefully 
he  smiled !  Good  fellow !  I  wish  I  might  see  him 
again.  He'd  go  through  fire  and  water  for  me.  It 
certainly  is  worth  while  to  do  a  kind  thing  now  and 
then.  '  March  with  his  hammers  comes  knocking  at 
our  doors,'  says  the  Breton  ballad ;  and  March  with 
his  hammers  seems  inclined  to  take  off  my  granary 
roof.  Yet  it  is  still  here,  after  all, — heavenly  still," 
he  thought,  —  "no  fumes  of  absinthe  and  vermouth,  no 
ch eking  of  bilUard-balls,  no  vulgar  voices.  As  for 
the  wind,  I  like  it ;  as  for  the  draughts,  I  am  strong ; 
as  for  my  incumbent,  the  ghost,  thank  God,  I  am  not 
superstitious.  '  Tired  with  all  these,  for  restful  death 
I  cr3%' "  he  read  aloud,  mouthing  the  words  cheerfulh^, 
when  his  door  flew  violentl}^  open,  reminding  him  in- 
voluntarily of  that  morning,  months  ago,  when  Guenn 
Rodellec  stormed  into  his  room.  He  turned  his  head 
expectantl}'. 

Guenn,  breathless  from  running,  shot  like  an  arrow 


GUENN.  389 

to  the  fireplace  and  dropped  on  her  knees.  "O  mon- 
sieur, O  monsieur  !  "  she  moaned,  rocking  to  and  fro. 

Hamor  had  been  reading  Shakespeare's  Sonnets,  as 
he  alwaj^s  read  them,  with  pure  delight.  Sometimes 
there  was  a  sensationalism  about  Guenn  Rodellec  which 
irritated  him.  He  looked  down  upon  the  coiffe  bowed 
over  the  two  little  hands  —  rough  still,  in  spite  of  the 
cake  of  soap  from  Quimper  ;  upon  the  crimson  kerchief 
he  saw  every  day ;  upon  the  coarse  skirts  and  sabots. 
Surely  this  was  not  fitting  apparel  for  high  tragedy. 
He  felt  a  certain  impatience  with  her  attitude.  Why 
did  she  kneel  on  the  hearth-rug?  Why  would  she  not 
stand  up  and  be  sensible  ? 

"  Well?"  he  said,  in  somewhat  cold  interrogation. 

"O  monsieur!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  struggling  pain- 
fully for  breath,  while  the  genet  fire  crackled  in  uncon- 
scious cheerfulness.  She  looked  in  a  confused  way 
round  the  familiar  room.  "They  are  coming,"  she 
gasped. 

''Who?"  he  said  impatiently. 

"  They  —  Hoel  and  Nives  and  he." 

Hamor  frowned  shghtly.  These  roughfBretons  seemed 
wholl}'  irrelevant  to  the  pure  diction  of  the  sonnet, 
and  his  restful  evening  solitude.  Guenn  herself  was 
too  staccato  for  his  mood.  "  Coming?  Where?  Here? 
When  am  I  to  have  the  pleasure  of  receiving  the  gen- 
tlemen, and  what  in  the  deuce  do  they  want?" 

"Not  so  smiling  —  for  the  love  of  heaven,  not  so 
careless  !  O,  how  shall  I  tell  you  !  Go  and  get  Mon- 
sieur Staunton,  and  then  it  will  be  bad  enough." 

" Monsieur  Staunton? " 

"Because  he  won't  tell.  He  will  stand  by  you,  and 
be  silent  afterwards.  Oh,  don't  ask  me  questions,  — 
only  go."     She  shuddered  palpably'. 


390  GUENN. 

"  Why,  Guenn,  I  believe  5-ou  are  actually  fright- 
ened," he  said  kindly. 

She  broke  into  wild  sobs.  "  O  monsieur,  yow  don't 
know  them.  This  time  it  is  for  life  or  death.  Please 
go  for  your  friend ;  and  even  then  — "  There  was  a 
slight  sound  in  the  court.  She  started  violently,  and 
■listened. 

*' Guenn,  child,  be  sensible.  I  thought  you  were 
proud  of  3'our  courage  ;  I  thought  you  claimed  to  be 
the  pluckiest  girl  in  Plouvenec." 

She  looked  at  him  strangety,  listening  always,  with 
painful  intentness,  to  ever}^  sound  without.  He  was 
speaking  in  a  sententious,  deliberate  wa}^  that  nearly 
drove  her  mad. 

"  Three  against  one  is  not  what  men,  as  a  rule,  con- 
sider a  fair  fight,  you  know.  No  doubt  it  is  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  prejudice  ;  still  —  "  Suddenh'  reflecting  the  girl 
had  come  out  of  pure  kindness  to  warn  him  against  her 
own  race  and  kin,  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  not  in 
the  best  taste  to  regale  her  with  his  mild  irony ;  he 
therefore  left  his  remark  unfinished.  "Come,  Guenn, 
you  can  understand  this,  I  am  sure,"  he  began  simply. 
"These  men  are  stronger  than  I,  as  auybod}^  can  see. 
But  I  know  better  how  to  use  my  strength ;  conse- 
quently I  think  I  can  make  it  suflSciently  unpleasant 
for  them.  Now  3'ou  run  home  again  and  go  to  sleep. 
It 's  all  right,  you  know.  You  are  a  good  girl  to  warn 
me,  since  you  think  it  necessary.  I  do  not.  I  trust 
my  own  good  fist,"  —  smiling  in  a  superior  and  reassur- 
ing way,  and  patting  her  shoulder  quite  paternall}'. 
^'  Thank  you  ver}^  much,  Guenn,  but  I  shall  not  dis» 
turb  Monsieur  Staunton." 

He  had  not  risen  from  his  chair  or  laid  down  his  book 
Throwing   back   his   head,  he   went   on   instructively 


GUENN.  391 

*'  Did  you  ever  think  what  would  happen  if  horses  and 
oxen  knew  their  own  strength?  It  is  well  that  some 
beasts  are  ignorant  of  their  vast  possibilities  for  evil. 
Now  I  know  most  of  mine."     He  laughed  carelessly. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Guenn,  not  hearing  a  word  of  this 
chapter  of  natural  history,  dropping  suddenly  to  the 
floor  again,  half  kneeling,  half  crouching  by  his  side, 
her  hands  pressed  convulsively  together,  her  face  pale 
as  death,  her  blue  eyes  dilated  with  fear,  her  voice  un- 
speakably sweet  and  appealing,  in  spite  of  its  tremor 
and  the  extreme  rapidity  of  her  utterance,  "you  are 
content  with  me  because  I  have  learned  to  pose  so  well ; 
is  it  not  so?  You  say  I  pose  best  of  all  the  girls.  You 
tell  me  I  have  helped  make  the  great  picture,  and  often 
you  think  you  would  like  to  give  me  a  pleasure.  And 
I  always  say  no,  for  I  want  nothing.  Is  it  not  so,  dear 
monsieur  ?  But  now  is  the  time  to  give  me  a  pleasure,  — 
now,  this  moment.  Go  for  Monsieur  Staunton.  Oh,  do 
not  look  like  that.  I  cannot  bear  it.  Not  so  smiling ! 
I  shall  die  if  you  smile  so !  Ah,  must  I  tell  you  ? 
Must  I  say  how  bad  they  are?  Loic  has  his  sailor- 
knife,  and  Hoel  an  oak  club,  and  he  —  he  has  a  pistol ; 
and  I  heard  what  they  said,  and  I  know  what  they 
mean  in  their  bad,  bad  hearts  !  " 

Hamor  for  the  first  time  looked  excited.  The  vein 
in  the  middle  of  his  forehead  jumped  into  prominence. 

"  H'm,"  glancing  uneasil}^  around  his  room.  "What 
can  the  brutes  want  ?     What  have  I  done  to  them  ?  " 

"God  knows,  monsieur.  Never  mind  what.  They 
have  been  tr3dng  to  hurt  you  all  winter.  You  have  not 
noticed.  That  was  natural,  monsieur.  They  have 
been  prevented  alwa^'s  —  "  she  hesitated  an  instant,  "  in 
one  way  or  another,"  she  resumed  quickly.  "They 
think  you  are  going  away  soon.     To-night  they  have 


392  GUENI^. 

sworn  to  kill  you.  The}'  know  you  sit  here  alone  even- 
ings. The}^  have  chosen  to-night  because  the  wind  is 
high.  Shame  on  them  that  this  is  the  truth !  Shame 
on  me,  a  Plouvenec  girl,  that  must  say  it ! "  she  moaned, 
wringing  her  hands  in  anguish. 

"  When  do  they  propose  to  descend  upon  me?"  he 
demanded.  "  You  have  not  told  me  that."  He  had 
felt  startled.  The  vision  of  three  assassins  attacking 
an  unarmed  man  has  not  precisely  a  sedative  effect 
upon  the  bravest  spirit.  Now  his  indignation  and  com- 
bativeness  were  roused.  He  began  to  design  a  fitting 
reception  for  the  cowards.  "When?"  he  repeated 
with  animation. 

"If  I  tell  him  the  truth,  that  they  are  coming  now, 
that  the}'  may  be  here  any  moment,  he  will  sta}',  and  all 
is  lost,"  was  her  agonized  thought.  "  Shame,  shame, 
that  I  must  lie  to  him  !  Shame  on  them, — shame  on 
us  all.  But  since  lie  I  must,  I  will  lie  well ! "  She 
sprang  up,  straightened  herself,  looked  in  his  eyes,  and 
answered  deliberately,  ' '  In  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  then  there  's  no  need  of  haste,"  sinking  calmly 
back  in  his  chair. 

' '  But  monsieur  may  have  difficulty  in  finding  Mon- 
sieur Staunton,"  urged  Guenn  desperately. 

"  Oh  no,"  laughed  Hamor,  "Monsieur  Staunton  is  as 
eas}^  to  find  as  the  lighthouse.  He  is  at  home  with 
his  wife." 

"But  if  our  people  don't  find  monsieur  here,  they 
will  seek  him  elsewhere,"  she  stammered.  "  The}^  are 
full  to  the  throat  with  drink  and  hate.  It  would  be 
better  to  fight  here  than  on  the  public  street,  monsieur  ?  " 
She  was  listening  alwaj's,  her  soul  in  her  eyes. 

"  True  enough,  child,"  he  admitted,  muttering  to  him- 
self; "  and  where  can  man  fight  better  than  by  his  own 


GUENN.  393 

hearthstone,  rented,  with  all  appurtenances,  for  twenty 
francs  a  month?" 

Guenn  watched  him  in  mute  agony.  If  she  said  too 
much  she  would  betray  herself,  yet  there  was  not  a 
moment  to  be  lost.  He  slowly  arranged  his  fire.  He 
thought,  as  every  man  thinks,  that  he  was  peculiarly 
clever  with  a  fire.  He  brandished  the  tongs  with  the 
dignity  befitting  a  man  whose  fires  are  not  as  other 
men's  fires,  who  builds  his  structure  according  to  his 
own  unique  system,  and  survej^s  the  result  with  just 
pride.  Hamor  never  picked  up  a  fallen  ember,  and  laid 
it  across  the  central  blaze,  without  a  certain  amount 
of  ingenuous  self-glorification.  He  had  it  finally  to  his 
satisfaction,  well  back  and  compact  in  the  chimney,  the 
back-log  discreetly  covered  with  ashes,  the  andirons 
slightly  pulled  out.  Then  he  put  the  shovel  and  tongs 
in  their  places,  and  looked  down  approvingly. 

Guenn  saw  always  three  dark  forms  approaching 
stealthily  through  the  night.  "  Where  are  they  now? 
Have  they  landed  ?     Is  there  3'et  time  ?  " 

Hamor  took  off  his  coat  and  brushed  it,  smiling  at 
this  sudden  access  of  punctiliousness.  "  Madame 
Staunton,  it  is  your  doing,"  he  thought  with  amusement. 
*'Now  when  I  go  to  see  Staunton  and  his  wife  I  always 
feel  rather  queer,  as  if  I  would  not  object  myself  to 
having  a  little  woman  about  evenings.  There  is  some- 
thing in  it,  after  all.  But  good  heavens  !  what  woman, 
charming  enough  to  please  me,  would  ever  consent  to 
obliterate  herself  days  for  the  honor  of  enlivening  my 
evening  hours?  It  may  succeed  with  Staunton.  It 
looks  as  if  it  would.  But  painters  in  general  ought 
not  to  marry.  It  is  asking  too  much  of  the  woman. 
Art,  my  art,  be  gracious  to  your  slave !  Only  be 
gracious,  my  love,  my  wife,  my  mistress,  my  goddess, 


394  GUENN. 

and  let  the  others  purr  in  their  chimney-corners.  Je 
m'en  moque  Men  ! " 

He  put  on  his  coat  and  looked  round  the  atelier.  ' '  In 
an  hour,  did  3'ou  say  ?  "  He  intended  to  be  ready  for 
the  rascals,  but  he  did  not  like  to  feel  that  he  must 
huiTy  on  their  account. 

"  In  an  hour,"  she  repeated  in  a  strained  voice. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  wise  to  do  something  with  the 
picture,"  Hamor  soliloquized.  "  It 's  paj'ing  rather  too 
much  of  a  compliment  to  the  brutes !  Still,  months 
of  work,  — and  that  last  bit  of  painting  on  the  wrist 
I  shall  never  happen  to  do  so  well  again." 

"  Monsieur,  I  will  take  care  of  the  picture." 

"  But  how,  child?    There  is  no  place." 

"I  will,  monsieur  knows  I  will.  Is  it  not  my  pic- 
ture? Don't  I  want  to  stand  in  the  Salon  before  all 
the  grand  people ?  "  She  tried  to  smile  and  toss  her 
head.  "  The  picture  shall  be  safe,  if  monsieur  will  only 
go  —  onl}^  go  now  !  " 

"Ah,  if  it's  a  question  of  a  gui's  vanity,"  Hamor 
returned  with  good-humor  ;  "  I  forgot  that  mighty  lever 
in  human  affairs.  Well  then,  Guenn,  I  trust  you. 
Take  care  of  it.    Take  care  of  j^ourself." 

"  One  of  the  most  surprising  things  in  the  world,"  he 
thought,  observing  her  with  his  young  man's  wisdom, 
"  is  the  nervousness  of  womankind.  City  or  country, 
they  are  all  alil^e.  This  girl  now,  is  morbidl}'  nervous." 
He  wandered  off  into  medical  speculations,  which  always 
interested  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I'm  going,"  as  she  sprang  towards  him, 
white,  speechless,  and  imploring.  "  But  I  don't  need 
an  hour  to  muster  m}'  modest  reinforcements.  I  could 
bring  a  regiment  here  in  that  time.  Good-night.  You 
are  a  very  kind-hearted,  good  girl,"  he  added  cordially, 
"  and  I  wish  I  knew  what  would  please  3^ou." 


GUENN,  395 

*'  Only  go  !  "  she  gasped. 

"  I  must  say  I  never  was  so  unceremoniously  ejected 
from  my  own  quarters.  Good- night.  Don't  disturb  the 
fire.  See  to  the  picture.  It 's  wet,  you  know.  Don't 
smooch  it.  And  run  home  as  fast  as  3'ou  can.  It 's 
dark  and  late.  Then  those  fellows  will  be  in  a  pretty 
rage  if  they  find  you  here.  And  Guenn,  if  any  old 
woman  would  make  a  tisane  for  you,  it  would  n't  be  a 
bad  idea.  That  sounds  thoughtful,  doesn't  it?  The 
fact  is,  men  are  selfish  beings,  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
fail  me  a  day  just  now.  You  look  feverish.  If  you 
should  be  ill  and  could  n't  pose,  —  "  He  shook  his  finger 
at  her  warningly. 

Another  time  and  her  heart  would  have  bounded 
with  joy  at  so  much  kindness.  Now  she  came  swiftly 
to  him,  took  his  hands,  and  led  him  towards  the  door. 
She  who  was  alwaj'S  half  savage,  half  timid  at  a  touch. 
The  small,  coarse  hands,  grasping  his  convulsivel}',  were 
ice-cold.  Hamor  jielded  to  her  movement.  "  She  is 
surely  going  to  be  ill,"  he  thought.  At  the  door  which 
she  opened,  steadily  pushing  him  over  the  threshold, 
he  said  seriously:  "Do  take  a  tisane,  Guenn.  Tell 
madame  at  the  Voyageurs,  I  beg  her  to  make  you  a 
nice  one.  You  will  take  it  if  I  wish?  "  he  added,  know- 
ing her  deep-rooted  instinct  against  any  description 
of  medicine. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  will  take  it;  I  will  take  anything,'* 
she  answered  hoarsel}'. 

"That's  a  good  child."  Putting  his  arm  lightly 
around  her,  he  stooped  and  carelessly  kissed  her  cheek. 
She  did  not  even  shrink  at  his  touch,  but  stood  rigid, 
very  near  him,  with  the  unspeakable  distress  on  her 
face.  He  went  whistling  down  the  stairway,  and 
tramped  lustilj^  through  the  court. 


396  GUENN. 

*'  Hol}^  Mother,  what  a  noise  he  makes  !  "  still  listen- 
ing with  painful  tension.  She  heard  him  swing  the  gate 
to  with  a  bang,  stride  over  the  pavement  beyond,  open 
and  close  the  heavy  door  under  the  arch.  He  was  safe 
for  the  time.  She  could  breathe  now.  She  closed  her 
eyes  and  leaned  against  the  door,  her  hands  pressed 
close  against  her  breast.  She  felt  a  strange  exhaustion 
in  ever}^  limb ;  but  she  dared  not  wait.  "  I  will  take 
the  picture  down  to  the  woodhouse.  No  one  will  see 
it  until  I  come  mj'self  to-morrow,  I  shall  come  so  early. 
And  as  soon  as  it  is  safe,  I  will  warn  the  chief  of  police. 
I  thought  I  would  not,  but  it  is  no  use.  I  must,  I 
must !  Shame  that  Guenn  Rodellec  must  turn  against 
Plouvenec  men !  " 

She  crossed  the  room  to  the  little  table  by  the  fire. 
A  book  was  lying  open.  She  looked  wistfuU}'  at  the 
strange  language  he  liked  to  read,  and  passed  her  hand 
tenderly  over  the  page  from  which  he  had  turned. 
Then  she  carefully  closed  the  little  volume  of  sonnets, 
remembering  that  he  usuallj'  closed  his  books  himself. 
He  cared  for  them.  She  felt  very  tired  and  faint. 
Kneeling,  she  laid  her  cheek  against  the  book,  —  the 
cheek  he  had  kissed,  against  the  book  his  hand  had 
touched. 

"  But  there  is  no  time,  no  time,"  she  murmured  wea- 
rily. Her  quick  ears  caught  a  sound  below.  Surely 
there  were  footsteps !  Surel}'  the  gate  was  stealthily 
opening !  The}^  were  there,  then,  already  there,  and  it 
was  too  late  to  save  the  picture.  She  bounded  to  it, 
and  stood  b}-  the  great  canvas,  her  arms  outstretched, 
her  face  flashing  defiance  towards  the  door,  ready  to 
die  for  his  work  as  she  would  have  died  for  him.  Once 
more  she  gazed  wildl}"  around. 

"  O  sweet  Mother  of  Christ,  is  there  no  way?  '* 


GUENN.  397 

The  light  ?  They  had  ah^eady  seen  it ;  it  was  of  no 
use  now  to  blow  it  out.  Suddenly  her  glance  fell  on  the 
narrow  door  which  opened  upon  the  empty  loft.  Her 
action  scarcely  slower  than  her  thought,  she  seized  the 
heav}^  picture,  mindful  even  then  of  Hamor's  caution  not 
to  rub  it,  and  bore  it  swifth^  across  the  atelier.  Would 
it  pass  through  ?  Was  it  too  high  ?  She  heard  foot- 
steps, muffled  and  slow,  on  the  stairs.  There  was  not 
an  instant  to  lose.  She  unlocked  and  opened  the  door. 
The  stretcher  grazed  the  doorway,  but  went  through, 
resting  on  the  beam  three  feet  bej^ond.  Guenn,  one 
foot  on  the  beam,  the  other  on  the  door-sill,  supporting 
the  awkward,  heavy  canvas,  managed  to  softly  close 
the  door  just  as  the  door  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  long 
room  opened,  and  the  three  men  entered,  saluting  the 
empty  studio  with  loud  imprecations. 

"  If  they  find  me,  they  will  cut  the  picture  in  pieces, 
—  and  kill  him  when  he  comes,"  thought  Guenn  in 
anguish,  balancing  herself  and  her  charge  above  fift}' 
feet  of  darkness.  •'  Wait,  there  is  straw  beneath;  he 
sent  me  for  some  yesterday  for  Jeanne's  picture.  Where 
was  it?  Let  me  think."  Her  head  felt  confused  in  the 
darkness.  "  It  was  on  the  right  side,  by  the  right 
wall,  and  I  have  not  turned.  If  I  can  move  the  picture 
along,  if  I  can  drop  it  straight,  so  that  it  will  fall  all  at 
once  and  flat,  on  the  wrong  side,  it  will  not  hurt  it ;  and 
if  it  should,  he  would  forgive  me  if  he  knew.  They 
won't  hear  if  I  do  it  now,  while  the}^  are  quarrelling. 
First  of  all  I  must  take  off  my  sabots  and  hide  them. 
There  must  be  a  place  under  the  door-sill." 

So  reasoning,  with  great  difficulty,  in  spite  of  her  un- 
usual strength,  she  swung  the  canvas  round  until  it 
rested  lengthwise  on  the  beam  ;  then  edged  along  as  best 
she  could,  pushing  the  high  stretcher  before  her.     This 


398  GUENN. 

beam  was  her  horror  hj  noonday.  She  could  now  see 
absolutely  nothing  ;  but  she  closed  her  eyes  instinctively, 
fearing  the  giddy  depths  below  her,  fearing  ghastly 
shapes.  Presently  the  picture  would  go  no  further, 
having  struck  the  sloping  roof.  Then  Guenn,  with  a 
prayer  to  all  her  saints,  dropped  it.  It  did  not  fall  flat 
and  noiselessly  as  she  had  anticipated.  Owing  to  some 
cause,  unknown  in  her  philosoph}',  one  corner  struck 
the  hard  floor.  The  taut  canvas  rang  like  a  drum,  then 
fell  over  softly  on  the  straw. 

"  If  only  the  wet  side  is  up  !  "  groaned  the  wretched 
girl,  now  on  her  hands  and  knees,  creeping  along  the 
beam.  She  knew  the  noise  would  attract  the  men. 
The}^  would  find  her.  "  Meme  chose,  if  only  the}'  don't 
see  the  picture.  Perhaps  they  will  see  nothing,  it 's  so 
dark,"  She  was  crouching  at  the  extreme  end  now, 
under  the  low  rafters. 

They  threw  open  the  door.  » 

"Take  care,  there's  no  floor  there,"  called  3'oung 
Nives.  The  place  looked  vast  and  black.  The  three 
men,  with  their  keen  sailor-ej^es,  blinked  uneasily  into 
the  indefinite  space. 

"  I'd  like  to  hang  the  painter's  cursed  long  bod}'  on 
that  beam,  alongside  of  old  Morot,"  muttered  Rodellec. 
"  Hoel,  just  bring  that  lamp  here,  will  you?  " 

Mves  crossed  himself,  with  an  expression  of  anxiety 
on  his  ugly  face.  "See  here,  Rodellec,  I  wouldn't 
talk  of  Morot  in  that  way  —  at  least,  not  here.  He 
might  not  like  it." 

"If  he  doesn't,"  returned  Rodellec,  reckless  and 
angry,  "he's  welcome  to  show  himself  and  say  so." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  thank  you  for  that  till  I  die,"  cried  Guenn's 
heart  passionately  ;  "  you,  even  you,  —  you  as  you  are, 
as  3'ou  have  always  been  to  me."     Tearing  her  shawl 


GUENN.  399 

from  her  shoulders,  her  quick  brain  suggesting  that  she 
must  conceal  her  head  and  as  much  of  her  figui'e  as 
possible,  —  she  clasped  her  trembling  hands  convulsively 
over  the  beam,  and  with  a  supreme  prayer  to  all  her 
saints,  dropped  and  hung  above  the  fifty  feet  of  dark- 
ness. "If  only  I  don't  fall  on  the  picture!"  she 
moaned,  as  her  wrists  strained  cruelly.  "  O  Monsieur 
Morot's  ghost,  don't  be  angiy,  for  you  see  yourself 
how  it  is.  Our  Ladj'  knows  I  don't  mean  anything 
disrespectful  to  you  !  " 

Hoel  came  along  with  the  lamp,  which  did  not  pro- 
duce much  effect  upon  the  gloom  in  the  great  empty 
granar}^  "The  noise  must  have  been  in  the  stables 
after  all,"  he  said.  "Now  that  I  think  of  it,  it 
sounded  like  hoofs,"  —  holding  the  light  high,  and  peer- 
ing into  the  most  obscure  corners.  Guenn  was  in  such 
profound  shadow,  so  nearly  on  a  line  with  the  doorway, 
that  they  did  not  at  first  perceive  her. 

Suddenly  Nives,  with  a  loud  exclamation  of  horror, 
pointed  towards  her.  His  excited  eyes  saw  a  long  dark 
hideous  object  swaying  from  the  beam.  In  a  moment 
the  three  had  shut  the  door  between  them  and  the  hor- 
rible sight,  and  stood  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  room, 
staring  at  one  another  in  cowardly  uncertainty.  Ro- 
dellec  took  the  precaution  of  putting  his  back  against 
the  entrance  door. 

"  Let  me  go  out,  RodeUec,"  said  Hoel.  "  I  tell  you, 
I  *ve  had  enough." 

"  It  won't  hurt  us,"  answered  Rodellec,  his  teeth 
chattering  audibh^ 

"  We  need  n't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  muttered  Nives. 

"I  never  liked  this  aflfair.  I've  been  drawn  into 
it,"  complained  Hoel.  "  I  have  not  anything  against 
the  painter.     It 's  all  your  fault  " 


400  GUENTT. 

"  I  don't  mind  fighting  men,"  began  Nives  in  Ms 
turn.  "As  for  fighting  ghosts,  I  won't.  It 's  unchris- 
tian.    It 's  contrary  to  the  Churcn." 

"It's  unlucky  even  to  see  such  things,"  Hoel  said 
querulously,  his  e3^es  fixed  upon  the  other  end  of  the 
room.  "  Let  me  go,  I  say,  Rodellec.  It's  a  bad  place. 
It 's  a  bad  job.     I  want  to  go  home." 

"  They  protect  the  painter,"  began  Nives.  "  There 's 
no  doubt  of  it.  There 's  always  somebody  the}^  protect. 
They  have  their  likings,  like  flesh-and-blood  people. 
If  they  had  n't  protected  him,  we  'd  have  had  him 
months  ago.  No  good  Breton  ought  to  go  on  against 
them.  It's  no  use.  It's  against  the  Church.  Let's 
go  home,  Rodellec." 

Rodellec  stood  with  his  broad  back  obstinately  against 
the  door.  He  was  himself  in  abject  fear,  but  his  hate 
for  Hamor  was  stronger  still.  He  walked  through  the 
room  with  a  swagger.  "  Take  that,"  he  said  viciously, 
kicking  a  hole  in  Hamor's  largest  charcoal-sketch,  "  and 
that,"  throwing  the  blue  vase  on  the  floor,  and  fling- 
ing the  Shakespeare  Sonnets  into  the  fire.  "Come, 
come,"  he  said,  somewhat  relieved  by  his  bluster;  "  it 
was  a  little  scare.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  us.  We  '11 
pound  the  painter's  head  all  the  same.  Mark  my 
words.  Old  Morot  wiU  have  nothing  to  say  against 
that." 

Three  loud  distinct  knocks  sounded  on  the  other 
door.  The  next  instant  the  men  were  flying  breathlessly 
down  the  crazy  stairway  and  through  the  court,  never 
stopping  until  they  reached  the  orange  light. 

Guenn,  as  soon  as  possible  after  the  door  was  closed, 
had  climbed  up  on  the  beam.  Her  poor  arms  felt  pulled 
out  of  their  sockets.  Her  throat  was  dry  and  parched. 
The  blood  was  rushing  furiously  to  her  head.     She 


GUENN.  401 

dreaded,  every  instant,  that  she  must  fall  from  sheer 
weakness.  She  steadied  her  head  against  the  rafters, 
and  blew  on  her  fingers  to  cool  their  burning.  She  was 
small  and  light,  unusually  muscular  for  a  girl ;  but  she 
had  supported  her  own  weight  with  her  arms  several 
minutes,  and  felt  physically  and  mentally  exhausted. 

"  If  only  he  will  stay  away.  K  only  Monsieur  Staun- 
ton keeps  him.  How  long  is  it  since  he  went?  How 
long  have  I  been  here?"  She  could  not  tell.  It 
seemed,  for  the  pain  and  fear  and  misery,  that  she 
might  have  been  there  hours,  weeks,  an  eternity.  She 
could  not  hear  what  the  three  men  were  saying,  but 
the  murmur  of  their  voices  reached  her  constantly. 
*'  I  must  make  them  go  away  ;  if  I  die,  I  must  do  that. 
Forgive  me.  Monsieur  Morot's  ghost,  but  I  must  make 
them  think  it  is  yow.  Don't  be  angry.  Forgive  me ; 
for  I  have  no  choice,  you  see  yourself." 

She  crept  along  the  dangerous  beam,  reached  one 
foot  over  to  the  doorsill,  and,  summoning  her  last  re- 
maining strength,  struck  the  door  vigorously  with  her 
sabot  three  times ;  upon  which  the  men  had  ignomin- 
iously  fled.  Guenn,  groping,  touched  the  door-knob, 
and  with  one  last  eflbrt,  dizz}-,  faint,  trembling  with 
fatigue  and  over-exertion,  but  triumphant,  fell  upon 
the  floor  of  the  abandoned  studio. 

Meanwhile  the  three  had  reached  the  familiar  private 
room  behind  the  orange  light. 

^' What  did  you  see?"  asked  Hoel,  eager  to  descant 
upon  the  experience,  now  that  he  felt  safe. 

''A  damned  black  body  swinging  from  the  beam," 
answered  Rodellec  gruffl}' . 

"  A  blue  face  with  fier}^  eyes,"  said  Mves. 

*'  I  saw  bones  and  a  brimstone  light,  and  heard  a 
horrible  choking,"  related  Hoel. 

26 


402  GUENN. 

The  three  men  crossed  themselves.  With  every  rep- 
etition, the  figure  grew  more  ghastly  and  gruesome. 

''Never  do  I  go  there  again  on  any  such  errand," 
said  Hoel. 

"  Nor  I  either,"  added  Nives. 

"Then  we'll  have  to  catch  him  somewhere  else; 
for  have  him  I  will,  before  I'm  through,"  and  Rodellec 
swore  a  mighty  oath. 

When  Hamor  returned  with  Staunton,  they  found 
the  garret  deserted.  They  sat  by  the  dpng  fire,  and 
chatted  of  pleasant  things  a  whole  hour. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  Hamor  said  apologetically.  "She 
really  seemed  in  earnest.  I  thought,  at  the  time,  it  was 
much  ado  about  nothing." 

"  My  dear  Hamor,  don't  excuse  yourself  that  there  's 
no  fighting,"  returned  his  friend,  smihng.  "I  assure 
you,  I  like  it  better  as  it  is." 

"  But  to  drag  you  from  Mrs.  Staunton  in  this  way, 
and  frighten  her  out  of  her  senses  into  the  bargain,  for 
she  saw  3'ou  take  your  pistol." 

"  The  Goths  and  Vandals  have  been  here,  neverthe- 
less," exclaimed  Staunton  quickly,  discovering  the  hole 
in  the  charcoal- sketch  ;  "  and  see  !  "  —  picking  up  a  frag- 
ment of  the  vase,  and  finally  fishing  out  of  the  ashes 
the  charred  remains  of  the  Sonnets,  and  extending 
them  with  the  tongs  towards  their  owner. 

"And  tired  of  waiting,  or  thirsting  for  grog,  with- 
drew after  these  small  ravages,"  Hamor  said  contemp- 
tuously. "  Consequently  their  state  of  mind  couldn't 
have  been  very  serious  in  the  first  place.  Guenn  ex- 
aggerated abominably.  She  really  gave  me  quite  a 
chill.  I  am  ashamed  to  offer  you  no  better  entertain- 
ment." 

"  And  I  am  very  glad.     Still,  I  think  you'd  better 


GUENN.  403 

come  along  now  when  I  go,"  Staunton  said  softly.  "  I 
don't  think  Rodellec  likes  3'ou  much,  you  know,  Hamor." 

"  Oh,  a  little  spite  no  doubt,"  Hamor  replied  care- 
lessly.    "  It  amounts  to  nothing." 

Guenn  had  not  dared  to  rest  many  minutes  prostrate 
upon  the  floor.  She  knew  that  she  must  be  at  home 
before  her  father  should  come,  sullen  and  suspicious, 
thrusting  a  candle  before  her  eyes,  sniffling  angril}' 
and  muttering,  to  find  her  seeming!}^  lost  in  profound 
sleep. 

She  went  b}^  the  shortest  path  through  the  fields,  but 
her  overwrought  bod}^  would  scarcely  support  her. 
Often  she  thought  she  must  fall  by  the  way.  As  she 
came  into  the  house  and  dropped  upon  a  bench,  Nannie 
sat  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  table,  his  luminous  eyes 
staring  at  her.  She  pulled  feebly  at  her  coiffe  and 
apron,  knowing  that  she  must  hurrj^,  yet  feeling  half- 
dazed  and  incapable  of  exertion. 

"Did  you  do  it  well?" 

*'  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  wearily,  "  whether  it 
was  well  or  ill ;  but  he  is  safe  —  the  picture  too." 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  peremptorily. 

She  related  the  bare  facts  in  the  simplest  way.  Her 
excitement  was  over.  She  was  almost  too  tired  to  be 
glad. 

He  listened  with  close  attention  ;  then  cross-examined 
her  on  some  points,  a  singular  expression  on  his  face. 

Guenn  staggered  across  the  room,  and  drank  a  cup 
of  milk.  She  looked  deathly  pale,  and  held  on  to  the 
furniture  as  she  walked. 

"  You'd  better  go  to  bed,"  the  bo}'  said  brusquely. 

"I'm  going.  Nannie,  do  you  know,"  she  began,  "  I 
wish  3'ou  would  let  me  tell  monsieur.  I  wish  you  'd  let 
me  tell  him  how  often  you  have  saved  him.  I  wish 
you  'd  let  me  tell  him  how  you  find  out  eyer3i;hing.     I 


404  GUENN. 

wish  he  knew  that  nobody  —  nobody  is  so  clever  as 
you,  that  nobody  is  so  splendid  and  so  good." 

"  It 's  enough  that  he  has  n't  a  nice  little  pistol-ball 
in  his  heart,  and  a  big  gash  across  his  throat,  and  a 
smashed  head,"  returned  the  boy.  "What's  the  use 
of  telling  all  you  know?  It  only  spoils  the  fun  next 
time." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  I  tell  you  I  enjoy  it  more  this  way,"  he  continued 
impatiently.  Then,  with  bitterness :  "You'd  better 
let  a  fellow,  built  like  me,  enjoy  what  he  can  his  own 
way." 

Guenn  sighed  deeply.  "  You  know  best,  Nannie,  of 
course,"  she  said  wdth  great  gentleness.   "  Good-night." 

"  Wait,  Guenn,"  he  rejoined  abruptly.  "  See  here, 
—  you  took  up  that  big  picture  and  squeezed  it  through 
that  door?  " 

"  Wh}^,  yes.  I  told  you,  Nannie," — with  weary 
indifference. 

"  You  made  them  think  you  were  old  Morot,  swing- 
ing on  his  beam,  —  you?  "  with  his  most. sardonic  grin, 
for  this  was  surely  his  own  special  domain. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  wonderingly. 

"  You  hung  there  by  your  two  wrists,  from  that  high 
beam,  — you?" 

"  Why  3^es,  Nannie.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do, 
was  there  ?  " 

The  boy  stretched  out  his  long  puny  arms,  and  re- 
garded them  with  unutterable  scorn.  A  spasm  of 
intense  longing  shot  into  his  paUid  face,  stormy  rebel- 
lion of  his  spirit  against  the  weak,  misshapen  body  which 
imprisoned  it.  Then  resuming  his  mask,  supporting  his 
head  with  his  crooked  hands  again,  half  closing  his 
clever  eyes,  "  It  was  not  bad  —  for  a  giii,"  said  the 
cripple  dryly. 


& 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 


HEN  maclame  of  the 
Vo3'ageurs  had  mild- 
ly intimated  to  Ha- 
mor,  the  evening  of 
his  arrival  in  Plouvenec,  that 
madame  the  postmistress  was 
apt  to  be  distraite,  she  did  her 
no  injustice.     The  painters  in- 
deed were  wont  to  use  stronger 
expressions  to  indicate  her  peculiarities. 

"  It'p  odd  how  types  reproduce  themselves,"  Hamor 
reflected  the  first  time  he  saw  her.  "  That  gaunt,  ab- 
sent-minded woman  has  peered  over  her  spectacles  at  me 
in  Maine,  Massachusetts,  and  California.  Now  I  behold 
her  here.  She  may  speak  French  as  much  as  she 
iikes,"  he  confided  one  day  to  Staunton,  "  but  I  verily 


406  GUENN. 

believe  she  is  the  identical  postmistress  who  said  to  me 
once,  in  a  little  New  England  village  :  '  Here,  Mr.  Ha- 
mor,  you  've  got  a  long  letter  from  3'our  cousin  Eliza- 
beth. As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  she  and  her  folks 
are  tol'able  smart.'  "  She  was  also  telegi-aph-operator, 
slowly  spelling  out  3'our  dispatches  with  flattering  inter- 
est, and  looking  at  jow  reproachfullj^  if  you  happened  to 
prefer  not  to  telegraph  in  French.  Her  distribution  of 
letters  was  characterized  hy  such  inconceivable  irregu- 
larity and  delay,  that  the  painters  at  first  swore  roundly, 
then  remonstrated,  then  accepted  the  inevitable  with  the 
patience  of  Mussulmans,  —  opening  letters  five  days  late 
without  a  murmur,  and  stoically  enduring  whatever 
blows  of  fate  were  dealt  them  by  the  Plouvenec  post. 

But  a  da}'  came  when  Hamor  refused  to  be  a  philos- 
opher. He  had  put  the  last  touches  on  the  great  picture. 
It  was  finished.  It  was  dry.  It  was  his  masterpiece. 
He  would  sit  before  it  silent  and  absorbed,  studying  it 
critically  an  hour  at  a  time.  Finall}"  he  began  to  pre- 
pare the  box,  in  which  it  was  to  go  to  Paris  to  meet 
its  fate. 

Guenn  watched  these  last  rites  with  deep  excitement. 
Her  heart  was  tremulous  with  rich,  full  memories.  It 
was  as  if  the  most  of  her  own  life  were  being  nailed  up 
in  that  great  case.  Full  of  sorrow  to  lose  the  past,  full 
of  joy  in  his  delight  that  he  had  finished  his  best  work, 
she  felt  that  she  was  bidding  farewell  to  a  friend  in 
that  familiar  canvas.  How  she  loved  it,  everj^  inch ! 
On  such  a  da}*,  he  had  begun  sketching  with  great 
nervous  strokes.  He  was  impatient  and  dissatisfied, 
she  remembered,  and  no  one  spoke,  feeling  his  mood. 
Then  it  grew  clearer  in  his  mind.  He  made  all  those 
ebauches.  At  last  he  looked  up  and  smiled,  and  they 
talked  again  and  were  glad.     And  the  days  he  painted 


GUENN.  407 

the  fortress,  how  pleasant  those  were.  How  Nannie 
chanted  and  sang!  And  the  beautiful  week  at  the 
islands,  the  most  beautiful  week  in  all  her  life !  She 
recalled  ever^^  moment  of  it,  —  the  lovely  fresh  morn- 
ings, the  roll  of  the  breakers,  the  wind  on  her  cheek, 
the  kindness  and  laughter,  the  services  in  the  little 
chapel,  the  cure's  troubled  eyes,  —  he  was  so  distressed 
then  about  poor  Jean,  the  good  cure,  —  the  death-bed 
scene,  with  Hamor's  face  in  the  doorway,  and  the  little 
hands  nestling  in  her  neck,  the  storm  and  the  shrill 
wailing  of  the  women.  Ah  3'es,  all  that  was  in  the 
picture,  and  more ! 

Then  the  quiet  days  since,  when  he  had  worked  so 
long  and  patiently  on  some  little  thing,  —  her  coiffe, 
her  wrist ;  and  she  sat  so  still,  so  blessed,  watching  his 
beautiful  face.  And  that  terrible  night  she  thought 
she  should  go  mad  before  she  could  induce  him  to  leave, 
and  she  had  to  drop  the  precious  thing  down  from 
that  ugl}'  beam.  It  seemed  like  sacrilege  to  her ;  but 
he  had  been  so  kind  the  next  morning,  and  never  re- 
proached her,  although  it  had  fallen  on  its  dear  face. 
He  had  only  smiled  and  wondered  what  possessed  her 
to  put  it  in  there,  when  the  woodhouse  would  have 
been  easier.  He  never  quite  believed  that  there  had 
been  any  danger  that  night,  and  she  had  never  liked 
to  tell  him  how  it  all  was,  and  explain  to  him  what  she 
had  done.  Why  should  she,  indeed,  since  he  and  the 
picture  were  safe?  But  that  night,  too,  was  in  the 
picture,  —  that  night  and  more! 

Ah,  if  the  fine  people  in  the  Salon  should  know  all, 
—  know  that  that  Breton  girl  loves  that  painting  more 
than  her  life,  and  in  a  boat  like  that  had  first  sculled 
him  across  the  ferry,  when  he  had  been  gentle  and 
kind,  and  she  so  rough  and  hateful  she  was  ashamed  to 


408  GUENN. 

remember  it  now  !  She  had  grown  more  decent  since, 
had  learned  how  to  help  him,  —  had  helped  him,  thanks 
to  Our  Lady  and  All  Saints,  in  what  he  loved  best ! 
But  she  was  glad  they  would  never  know.  It  was  her 
secret  and  his.  The  picture  to  them  would  be  only  a 
girl  sculliug  with  a  big  oar.  The}'  would  talk  about  its 
color  and  its  drawing,  its  action,  its  water,  its  technique. 
So  much  she  knew  now.  She  had  heard  the  words 
often  enough.  But  they  would  never  dream  that  her 
whole  past  was  in  it,  her  whole  soul,  —  the  best  strength 
of  her  life,  the  best  thoughts  of  her  brain,  the  best  love 
of  her  heart,  —  since  the  day  it  was  begun.  She  gave 
a  violent  sob,  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  carpenter  had  driven  the  last  nail  and  gone. 
Hamor  was  kneeling,  addressing  the  box.  He  was  in 
high  spirits.  Even  tears  could  not  annoy  him  to-day. 
"  Don't  di'own  me,  Guenn,"  he  said  pleasantl}^ 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  sill}',"  she  answered  apologeti- 
call}',  smiling  at  him  through  her  tears.  "I  feel  so 
strange,  monsieur.  I  should  think  I  was  drowning  m}'- 
self.  They  sa}-  you  remember  then  everything  j^ou 
ever  did  in  all  your  life.  That 's  what  I  was  doing, 
remembering  and  remembering.  It  seems  as  if  some- 
body was  dead  in  that  box." 

"  If  you  talk  hke  that,  I  shall  conclude  that  3'ou  like 
the  picture  better  than  the  painter,"  he  said  with  a  kind 
smile.  ''But  I  know  what  you  mean.  It  is  a  sensa- 
tion one  often  has  when  one  comes  to  the  end  of  anj^- 
thing.  I  feel  more  or  less  so  myself."  Then,  laying 
down  his  brush  and  rising,  he  said,  smiling  a  Uttle  still 
but  speaking  seriously:  "Guenn,  it  seems  a  fitting 
moment,  here  over  the  solemn  box,  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  never  thanked  3'ou  half  enough  for  3'our  help. 
I  have   been   quite  touched   by  3'our  faithfulness   and 


GUENN,  409 

patience.  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  Upon  my 
word,  you  are  as  loyal  as  a  soldier,  as  jomv  friend  Victor 
himself." 

"  O  monsieur,  O  monsieur  ! "  stammered  Guenn,  radi- 
ant under  his  praise. 

"Now  I  don't  intend  to  make  a  speech.  I  oul}' 
want  to  tell  you  simply  that  you  have  kept  our  compact 
like  a  man." 

*'Like  a  Breton!"  suggested  Guenn  with  a  ring  in 
her  voice,  smiling  brilliantl}^  her  eyes  a  little  wet. 

"Like  a  Breton,  if  3'ou  will,  child ;  and  some  day  I 
shall  reward  you  like  a  —  painter  !  " 

"O  monsieur,  don't  speak  of  reward.  I  never 
was  so  happy.  I  never  half  lived  until  I  learned  to 
care  for  the  picture." 

"Well,  it  is  just  beginning  its  career.  I  shall  have 
all  its  experiences  to  tell  you  when  I  come  back  from 
the  Salon.  So  don't  mourn  as  if  it  were  dead,  for  on 
the  contrary  it  is  just  born.  I  am  pra3^ing  with  all  my 
heart  that  the  infant  ma}^  prove  very  much  alive,  and 
run  its  course  with  vigor." 

She  laughed  brightl3\ 

"And  Guenn, — I  think,  since  I've  concluded  to 
stay  here  through  the  summer,  I  th^j  do  something, 
after  all,  with  that  bridal  train  I  spoke  of  once  in  the 
Beiisec  church3^ard.  Your  expression  suggested  it  to 
me  just  now.  Ros3^  and  modest  and  proud  and  3"Oung," 
he  murmured  to  himself,  "  not  fierce  and  defiant  as  at 
first,"  —  suddenl3"  studying  her  as  closety  as  if  he 
had  never  seen  her  before.  After  a  pause  he  resumed 
lightl3',  "  Wh3^,  with  all  of  the  girls  in  3^our  train, 
Guenn,  3^ou  would  be  so  proud  3'ou  would  care  more 
for  that  picture  than  for  this." 

"  Oh  no,  monsieur,  I  shall  never  love  a  picture  again. 
I  shall  never  be  so  proud,"  she  sighed  softly. 


410  GUENN. 

"Well,  well,  please  3'ourself;  only  if  you  could 
prepare  the  bridal  costume  I  should  be  much  obliged. 
Could  n't  you  go  over  to  Quimper?  You  know  the 
heavy  silver  embroideries  I  like  ;  and  if  you  could  find 
an  old  jacket,  a  genuine  one,  —  " 

"  Indeed  I  can,"  she  said  with  alacrity.  "  I  will  go 
over  this  week  with  Andre." 

"  And,  Guenn,  I  must  get  at  Thymert  again.  I  could 
finish  him  without  another  sitting,  but  I  much  prefer 
one.  The  good  man  is  wild,  like  you  before  I  tamed 
3'ou.  He  has  about  as  much  conception  of  posing  as 
a  Numidian  lion." 

"  Yes,  we  must  have  him  again,"  she  agreed,  nodding 
seriously.  "  Oh,  he  is  tame  enough  for  that,  monsieur. 
Only  in  the  winter  he  was  so  sad  about  poor  Jean." 

"By  the  way,  I've  not  shown  3'ou  this,  have  I?" 
turning  a  small  picture  that  stood  face  towards  the 
wall,  and  holding  it  towards  her.  "  I  did  it  yesterday, 
out  of  mere  caprice." 

It  was  Herve  Rodellec  who  scowled  fiercel}^  at  his 
daughter. 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed,  putting  up  her  hands  with  a 
little  repelling  gesture. 

"Good  head  the  man  has,  interesting  stud}".  I've 
watched  him  off  and  on  a  long  time,  and  have  suc- 
ceeded fairly  well,  I  think,  with  the  sketch." 

Guenn  said  nothing  —  only  stared,  and  scowled  back 
heartily  at  the  scowling  face. 

"You  are  wondering  why  I  want  him?  Simply 
because  it 's  a  head  that  amuses  me  ;  and  you  know 
we  don't  care  for  amiability  in  art.  He's  the  last  of 
the  triumvirate  I  set  my  heart  upon  the  day  I  came  to 
Plouvenec.  You  are  the  first,  girl  as  3^ou  are.  I 
have  you  all  in  m}^  clutches."  Chattering  and  smiling, 
he  put  the  picture  back. 


GUENN.  411 

"  Guenn,  I  will  leave  you  my  keys,  so  that  you  can 
come  in  and  look  after  these  two  pictures  if  it  should 
be  necessary.  I  am  going  to  Lorient  for  three  or  four 
days.  Morot  wants  me  to  sail  over  with  him  to  the 
regatta.  In  the  mean  time,  if  you  can  go  to  Quimper  and 
look  up  your  bridal  costume,  we  can  begin  our  Pro- 
|cesslon  Monday.  We  '11  have  Jeanne  and  Victoria  and 
Ldna, — half  Plouvenec  in  fact.  Alain  as  bridegroom, 
—  how  would  you  like  Alain  as  bridegroom,  Guenn?" 
significantly. 

"Very  much,  in  a  painting,"  she  answered  mis- 
chievously. 

She  could  never  love  the  new  picture  as  she  did  the 
old  friend  in  the  box  ;  still  she  was  eager  to  do  her  best 
to  serve  Hamor's  least  wish,  and  the  thought  of  going 
to  Quimper  in  search  of  the  costume  was  in  itself  at- 
tractive to  her  energetic  nature.  September  seemed 
very  far  distant.  There  are  so  man}',  many  days,  she 
thought,  between  March  and  September.  Then  he  had 
changed  his  mind  in  regard  to  leaving  PlouA^enec  once. 
Why  might  he  not  change  it  again?  She  ceased  to 
consider  the  possibility  of  existing  without  him.  She 
lived  in  the  glorious  present ;  and  in  spite  of  her  strange 
grief  at  the  loss  of  the  painting,  it  was  a  happ3'  Guenn 
who  stood  on  the  qua}^  in  the  sunshine  the  next  morn- 
ing, laughing  and  jesting  with  the  men  as  each  boat 
set  sail  for  Lorient.  She  felt  a  little  odd  as  young 
Morot's  boat  put  off,  and  Hamor  waved  his  hat  with  a 
cheery  au  revoir.  Plouvenec  seemed  emptj'  without  his 
smile  that  day.  Still  she  went  brightly  to  work,  and 
was  bus}^  for  madame  at  the  inn,  and  for  Monsieur 
Morot,  all  Wednesda}-  and  Thursday. 

Friday  she  drove  over  to  Quimper  on  the  box  with 
old  Andre,  who  joked  incessantly  about  her  lost  locks, 


412  GUENN. 

and  her  supposed  infatuation  with  the  handsome  Merle 
sailor.  Saturday  she  was  to  see  Hamor  again,  — possi- 
bl}',  indeed,  that  very  evening,  —  she  thought  with  a 
great  heart-throb,  as  the}"  drove  out  of  Quimper.  Three 
long  days  since  she  had  seen  him  !  But  how  he  would 
smile  !  How  beautiful  his  voice  would  sound.  And  he 
would  be  pleased  with  the  bridal  costume.  He  would 
tell  her  she  was  a  help  to  him,  and  a  clever  girl  to 
choose  so  well.  And  when  he  would  see  her  in  it,  his 
face  would  be  like  sunshine  shining  down  into  her  heart. 
So  at  dusk  —  perched  on  the  box  of  the  red  and  3'ellow 
omnibus,  jostling  against  old  Andre,  but  half  hearing 
his  familiar  jokes,  her  happ}"  face  turned  towards  Plou- 
venec  —  she  was  coming  to  meet  her  painter. 

As  the  omnibus  left  Quimper,  Morot's  boat  glided 
softly  up  to  its  landing  on  the  Plouvenec  quay.  Hamor, 
with  the  feeling  that  he  had  been  absent  a  long  time, 
walked  directly  to  the  Voyageurs  and  asked  for  his 
letters. 

"There  is  a  dispatch,  monsieur,"  madame  announced. 
"  It  came  this  morning.  I  was  sorry  not  to  be  able  to 
forward  it,  but  I  did  not  know  whether  monsieur  was  on 
land  or  sea." 

"  Oh,  that  was  quite  right,"  began  Hamor,  in  his  po- 
litest French.  Tearing  open  the  envelope,  he  instantly 
relapsed  into  marrowy  English. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  frown. 

"  I  hope  monsieur  has  no  bad  news." 

Hamor  reflected  a  moment.  "  I  don't  know,"  he 
said;  "  there  may  be  time.  Madame,  I  am  sure  3-0U 
are  a  woman  to  help  a  man  in  an  emergency.  The 
emergency  is  here  ;  I'm  the  man." 

"  What  does  monsieur  wish  ?  "  said  madame  calmly. 

Hamor  looked  at  his  watch.     "  I  want  a  horse  that 


GUENN,  413 

can  do  a  four  hours'  drive  in  two  hours  ;  I  want  a  dri- 
ver who  is  not  a  fool  to  take  me  to  catch  the  night  train 
to  Rennes  ;  I  want  a  few  necessary  things  put  into  my 
valise  ;  I  want  Mr.  Staunton  here  in  five  minutes  ;  and 
I  want  some  dinner  ready  as  soon  as  I  return  from  the 
post-office,  where,  whether  I  do  or  do  not  find  a  miss- 
ing letter,  I  have  every  intention  of  murdering  your 
postmistress." 

"Very  good,"  responded  madame  imperturbably ; 
"  monsieur  will  find  everything  to  his  satisfaction." 

Hamor  flew  out  of  the  house,  mechanically  muttering 
the  words  of  the  dispatch :  — 

"  Why  no  answer  to  Sunday's  letter  'I  R.  impatient.  Come 
to-day,  or  lose  everything." 

"  Give  me  my  letter,  madame,  if  you  please,"  he 
said  sternly,  bursting  into  the  postmistress's  sanctum. 

' '  Monsieur  has  no  letter.  Monsieur  mistakes  ;  mon- 
sieur should  remain  outside,  at  the  window." 

"  I  have  a  letter  which  ought  to  have  been  delivered 
last  Tuesday.  I  will  trouble  you  for  it.  I  will  remain 
outside  next  time.     Hamor  is  the  name,  —  H-a-m-o-r." 

"  I  know  perfectl}^  monsieur,"  she  replied  rebuk- 
ingly  ;  then  slowl}'  examined  various  piles  of  envelopes, 
which  lay  in  their  pigeon-holes  beneath  the  letters  W, 
S,  and  T, — anything  but  H.  Presently  she  looked 
twice  at  an  envelope,  then  scrutinizingly  at  the  young 
man. 

"  Give  me  that  one,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  But  it  does  not  belong  to  monsieur.  I  have  re- 
garded it  all  the  week.  It  belongs  to  Monsieur  Ham- 
mond, who  has  gone  to  Nevin,  and  may  return  any  day. 
I  am  keeping  it  for  him." 

"  Fiend  of  a  disguised  Yankee,"  muttered  Hamor. 
Let  me  look  at  it,"  he  said,  controlling  his  impatience ; 


<( 


414  e^UENN. 

*'our  foreign  handwritiug,  you  know,"  —  reaching  out 
adroitly  and  snatching  the  letter. 

"Monsieur  has  reason,"  she  answered  plaintively; 
*'  the  writing  so  English  can  well  deranger  the  most  —  " 

But  Hamor  was  gone.    It  ran  hastily  to  this  effect :  — 

"  Your  picture  tremendous  hit.  R.  insists  upon  seeing  you. 
Can  sell  it  for  you  a  dozen  times,  if  you  like,  already.  He  is  here 
only  a  few  days  now ;  wants  you  to  come  on  without  delay ; 
seems  to  have  a  plan  in  view  about  Rome.  If  so,  your  star 
is  in  the  ascendant.  Congratulations.  Telegraph  answer,  by  all 
means.     You  know  R.  simply  hates  to  be  kept  waiting." 

"  You  see  there  is  no  choice,"  he  said  to  Staunton, 
who  was  waiting  for  him,  thrusting  the  letter  into  his 
hand;  "  go  I  must.  I  must  ask  jou  to  pay  any  stray 
bills  that  may  be  handed  in,  and  have  the  two  pictures 
in  the  atelier  packed  off  to  my  Paris  address.  And  say 
good-by  to  everybody  for  me,  will  you,  my  dear  fellow? 
I  don't  enjoy  leaving  in  this  fashion,  upon  my  w^ord. 
Let  me  swallow  a  mouthful  of  dinner,  as  I  've  had  noth- 
ing on  the  boat  since  breakfast.  Ah,  there  are  so  many 
people  I  would  like  to  see  again  !  Thymert,  for  one  ; 
and,  Staunton,  do  look  after  Guenn.  She's  as  proud 
as  Lucifer,  and  will  resent  mj^  going  without  a  special 
farewell.  But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  can't  wait  to  hunt  her 
up.     If  she  can  be  produced  suddenly  —  " 

"Did  monsieur  speak  of  Guenn  Rodellec?"  inter- 
posed madame's  tranquil  voice.  "  She  has  not  re- 
turned from  Quimper.  Does  monsieur  wish  to  leave 
any  message  or  directions  to  her  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  thanks,  madame.  Tell  her  I  thought  of  her, 
and  was  sorry  not  to  ssij  good-by,  and  that  I  '11  send 
her  something  pretty  from  Paris,  and  shall  be  back 
some  da3^  Oh,  say  anything  you  like  that's  kind,  ma- 
dame.    Explain  how  it  was.     You  know  how." 


GUENN.  415 

"  I  will  attend  to  it,"  she  replied  calmly,  as  if  he 
had  ordered  roast  chicken.  "Monsieur's  carriage  is 
at  the  door.  It  is  the  best  horse  in  Plouvenec,  and 
the  driver  is  Andre's  brother.  Monsieur  should  be 
content." 

"  Madame,  you  are  worth  your  weight  in  gold." 

4  4  Which  would  be  a  handsome  fortune,"  she  rephed 
placidly. 

Although  Hamor  had  been  back  but  twenty  minutes, 
the  news  had  quickly  spread  that  he  was  going  with 
Andre's  brother,  and  the  fastest  horse  in  the  place,  to 
catch  the  night  train  to  Rennes.  As  he  came  out  the 
famihar  door,  —  giving  Staunton  his  last  injunctions, 
thanking  madame,  and  shaking  hands  right  and  left,  — 
it  seemed  as  if  nearly  every  well-known  face  in  Plou- 
venec was  there.  The  monarchical  sippers  of  absinthe 
and  vermouth  rose  from  their  little  tables  to  wish  him 
bon  voyage.  The  judge  smiled  largely,  and  would  have 
made  a  speech  if  Hamor  had  not  good-humoredly  shaken 
him  off.  All  the  hotel  people  stood  on  the  pavement  to 
see  him  go.  The  carpenter,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  called 
down  St.  Herve's  blessing  upon  him.  Meurice's  stiff 
mouth  twitched  eloquently.  Mother  Nives  and  Mother 
Quaper  roared  their  good  wishes  in  the  face  of  the  hand- 
some gars,  and  little  Jeanne  sobbed  aloud  as  he  bade 
her  good-by.  "Tell  Guenn  how  it  was.  Tell  her  I 
thought  of  her." 

"  It  really  touches  me,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Staunton, 
who  stood  by  the  chaise,  "  this  whole-souled  kind- 
ness, this  simplicity  of  demonstration.  I  never  cared 
for  a  place  in  all  my  life  as  I  care  for  Plouvenec.  I  shall 
surely  come  again,  surely." 

"Like  good  King  Arthur,"  said  the  little  Danish 
artist  smilingly.    "  As  they  say  here,  '  King  Arthur  will 


416  GUENN, 

surely  return.'  Everj'thing  good  must  indeed  return  to 
Brittan}',  it  is  so  pleasant  here." 

"  That  sounds  hke  Nannie  Rodellec.  I  wish  he'd 
appear.  He  's  alwaj's  turning  up  suddenl3\  Where  is 
the  boy?" 

The  boy  lay  on  his  face  on  the  ground,  in  a  shadow 
of  the  common,  his  fingers  in  his  ears.  His  breast 
was  torn  with  sobs.  He  would  not  see  Hamor  go.  He 
would  not  say  good-by.  His  face  was  pressed  to  the 
cold  earth,  and  he  wept  bitterly. 

As  Plouvenec  seemed  to  be  already  fading  into  a  dim 
perspective,  Hamor  grew  sentimental,  and  regarded  it 
wistfully.  His  face  wore  a  charming  look  of  tender  retro- 
spection, as  the  light  from  the  Voyageurs  windows  shone 
out  for  the  last  time,  and  the  people  crowded  around 
to  bid  him  farewell.  The  spacious,  dusky  common,  the 
low,  frowning  battlements,  the  gleam  of  water  beyond, 
and  the  row  of  lights  on  the  other  shore,  were  already  a 
picture  which  he  beheld  lo\ingly,  in  the  long  vistas  of 
memory.  Hamor  shook  hands  again  with  Staunton 
and  his  wife.  "I'm  glad  I  may  see  you  both  at 
the  Salon,"  he  said.  "That  gives  me  one  pang  the 
less."  Turning  brightly,  "  Good-b}',  madame,"  he  said. 
"  Thanks  for  everything.  I  shall  certainly  come  again 
some  day." 

"  Monsieur  will  be  always  welcome  at  the  Voyageurs. 
The  Voyageurs  will  guard  an  amiable  souvenir  of  mon- 
sieur until  he  returns."  The  noble  caryatid  was  up- 
holding her  portals,  precisely  as  he  had  seen  her  six 
months  before. 

"  And  madame,  3'ou  who  never  forget  anything,  let 
me  leave  particularly  with  you  my  kindest,  most  cordial 
messages  for  Thymert  and  Guenn  Rodellec.  Awkward 
enough,  that  the  child  is  not  here." 


GUENN.  417 

"Very  awkward,  monsieur,"  echoed  madame  calmly, 
"  I  must  tell  her  myself,"  reflected  the  busy  brain,  be- 
hind the  imperturbable  forehead.  "I  must  manage 
Jeanne  and  the  women." 

*'  Time  's  up,  m'sieur,"  said  the  driver. 

"  Upon  \ny  word,  it's  inhuman  to  be  swept  off  by 
'fate  in  this  fashion,"  Ilamor  exclaimed  laughingly. 
"  Confound  the  postmistress  and  her  knavish  tricks  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  should  n't  complain.  You  are  going  where 
glory  awaits  you,"  Staunton  returned  pleasantly. 

"There  is  a  certain  compensation,"  Hamor  began, 
but  the  driver  cracked  his  whip.  Off  went  the  old-fash- 
ioned Breton  chaise.  "Be  sure  and  sa}^  good-by  to 
Guenn  Rodellec,"  shouted  Hamor  at  the  very  last. 

"Adieu,  monsieur,"  cried  the  familiar  voices;  and 
amid  showers  of  blessings,  —  invoking  Our  Lad}^  of 
the  Lannions,  St.  Herve,  St.  Jean  de  la  Roche,  St. 
Anne  d'Auray,  and  a  score  of  benign  Breton  saints,  — 
from  the  large  group,  and  a  shower  of  curses  from  a 
small  group  of  two  on  the  common,  Everett  Hamor  left 
Plouvenec. 

As  the  chaise  went  swiftly  over  the  dark  roads,  be- 
tween the  granite  walls  and  the  fosses,  the  old  omnibus 
was  rolhng  slowly  along  towards  the  village ;  and  just 
as  Hamor  stretched  himself  out  comfortably  in  the  coupe 
he  had  secured  for  his  exclusive  occupancy,  Guenn,  her 
bridal  finery  under  her  arm,  sprang  lightl}^  down  from 
the  high  box,  thanked  Andre  heartily  in  her  sweet, 
glad  voice,  and  stamping  her  feet  a  little,  "  to  find  her- 
self" after  the  drive,  looked  around  with  the  rapturous 
hope  that  she  might  hear  Hamor' s  pleasant  laugh,  or 
perceive  the  odor  of  his  cigarette,  or  even  see  him  saun- 
tering across  the  common.  There  were  some  women  at 
a  little   distance.      She    went   towards   them   swiftly. 

27 


418  GUENN. 

Mother  Nives  and  Mother  Quaper  were  standing  amica- 
bly together.     The}'  stared  at  her  in  silence. 

"  What  a  joke,"  cried  Guenn  in  high  spirits.  "  Has 
the  sky  fallen  ?  You  two  turtle-doves  !  Deary  me,  what 
wonders  happen  when  one  makes  a  voyage  to  Quim- 
per  !  "  Her  pretty  laugh  rang  over  the  common.  Nan- 
nie, hearing  it,  grovelled  in  the  dust.  Her  irony  met 
with  no  countercharge. 

"  Good-night,  Guenn,"  muttered  Mother  Nives,  shuf- 
fling ofl"  in  one  direction.  "  Good-night,  Guenn,"  said 
Mother  Quaper,  scuffling  off  in  the  other. 

"  Well,  I  never  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl  merrily.  Surely 
she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Jeanne,  coming  along. 
Jeanne  must  have  seen  her,  but  the  provoking  girl  had 
run  ofl"  and  hidden  somewhere.  It  was  a  pity,  for  she 
would  know  whether  monsieur  had  come  home  or  not. 
Still,  Guenn  did  not  intend  to  run  after  her.  "  I  will  go 
into  the  Voyageurs.  Madame  has  a  head  on  her  shoul- 
ders. As  for  running  after  Jeanne  Ronan,  I  won't ! 
It  is  Jeanne's  place  to  run  after  me."  She  crossed  the 
common  quickly  towards  the  cheerful  hght  of  the  inn. 
Under  the  great  oak,  not  far  from  the  door  of  the  Voy- 
ageurs, stood  two  men.  Guenn  came  suddenly  upon 
them. 

"  Well,"  sneered  her  father,  standing  directly  in  her 
path,  "  so  your  painter-chap  has  sneaked  off"  and  left 
you." 

Guenn  looked  at  him  with  her  fearless  eyes  and 
laughed.  She  wore  her  Sunday  gown,  her  best  ker- 
chief and  coifle,  the  lace  with  the  pretty  pattern,  and 
afl  the  finery  which  she  had  bought  with  her  hair  for 
the  Nevin  Pardon.  "  When  one  goes  to  the  city  on  an 
errand  for  Monsieur  Hamor,  one  must  be  fit  to  be 
seen,"  she  had  reasoned. 


GUENN,  419 

*'  Wh}^  should  n't  he  go  where  he  pleases  and  do  what 
he  likes?"  she  answered  lightl}',  trying  to  pass. 

Kodellec  stood  in  her  way,  scowhng.  "  Six  months 
here,  and  I  did  n't  spoil  his  grin.  It 's  your  fault,  I 
suspect,  minx ! " 

*'  The  angels  guard  him,"  said  Guenn  proudly. 

''Angels  or  devils,  it's  something,  sure  enough," 
began  Nives.  "  No  fellow  ever  deserved  a  good  kniv- 
ing  more  than  he  ;  but  you  can't  fight  ghosts,  and  that 's 
the  end  of  it,"  crossing  himself. 

Guenn  only  laughed. 

Rodellec  glared  at  her  resentfully.  "  If  I  could  have 
borrowed  a  horse  as  fast  as  his,  if  I  'd  had  m}"  pistol, 
if  there  had  n't  been  such  a  crowd,  if  I  'd  known  it 
before,—" 

Guenn  stood  in  the  full  light  of  the  windows,  unsus- 
pecting, smihng,  tossing  her  head,  patting  her  great 
package  confidentially,  impatient  to  be  off",  yet  anxious 
not  to  show  the  white  feather.  The  March  wind  had 
brought  the  most  vivid  color  to  her  cheeks  and  lips. 
She  never  had  looked  more  spirited  and  beautiful. 

Young  Nives  stared  at  her  and  groaned  aloud.  "  He 
went  ofl"  like  a  prince,"  he  snarled,  —  "  the  people  all 
bowing  and  scraping,  my  lord,  the  damned  painter,  lean- 
ing out  and  waving  his  hand,  so  gracious  and  grinnj\" 

She  came  with  a  great  bound  towards  him,  and  seized 
his  arm  roughly.  "What's  that  you  say?"  she 
screamed. 

"  That  he  is  gone,  3'ou  fool,"  sneered  Rodellec. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  to  the  regatta  —  to  Lorient,"  she 
said  hoarsely. 

"  To  Paris,  —  to  the  devil,  to  hell-fire  and  brimstone, 
if  I  had  my  way.  But  gone  he  is,  gone  forever,  your 
long-legged,  mealy-mouthed  painter." 


420  GUENN. 

She  staggered  as  if  she  would  fall ;  then  rallied,  stepped 
back  and  faced  him  superbl}^,  her  face  white  as  death. 
'' You  lie,"  she  cried  fiercel}'.  "You  hate  him.  You 
are  a  coward  and  a  murderer.  You  have  lied  all  j'our 
life.     You  are  l^'ing  now  in  3'our  wicked  throat." 

Madame  of  the  Voj^ageurs  had  crossed  unnoticed  from 
her  door. 

"  God  forgive  3'ou,  Herv^  Rodellec,"  she  said;  "  I 
never  will,  here  or  hereafter.  Guenn  !  "  in  a  voice  no 
one  had  ever  heard  from  madame. 

"  Is  it  true?  "  demanded  Guenn,  seizing  her  wrists. 
"  You  are  not  a  liar." 

"  Come  with  me,  Guenn  ;  these  men  are  cruel  to  you. 
I  must  talk  with  3^ou.     Come." 

"Is  it  true?"  Her  agonized  eyes  searched  mad- 
ame's  face,  and  read  its  fatal  answer. 

Without  a  look  at  one  of  them,  she  was  gone.  Like 
an  arrow  she  sped  through  the  darkness.  Madame,  in 
deepest  anxiety,  followed  her,  and  saw  her  take  the  road 
to  the  studio.  Arriving  a  few  minutes  later,  she  ob- 
served that  Guenn  had  lighted  the  lamp.  Her  shadow, 
as  she  rapidly  paced  the  long  garret,  fell  on  the  curtains 
of  the  three  dormer-windows. 

"It  is  well  so,"  reasoned  madame,  standing  down  in 
the  court ;  "  she  will  wear  herself  out  in  her  fierce  sorrow. 
She  will  grow  tired  ;  and  when  the  tears  come  she  will 
be  safe.  She  is  proud  ;  she  will  learn  to  bear  it.  But 
she  is  better  alone,  to  fight  it  out  herself.  Such  hearts 
in  pain  must  be  left  alone.  Poor  Guenn  !  Poor  little 
Guenn !  " 

It  was  perfectly  dark,  and  no  one  was  there  except 
the  one  person  whom  madame  trusted.  She  took  out 
her  handkerchief  and  repeatedl}'  wiped  her  ej^es.  Sev- 
eral times  that  night  she  stole  round  to  the  ateher^ 


GUENN.  421 

and  found  the  light  still  burning.  ''It  is  well,"  she 
thought.  ' '  She  will  grow  wear3\  She  will  soften  there  ; 
her  memories  of  the  handsome  gars  will  make  the  tears 
come." 

But  Guenn  only  remained  a  few  minutes  in  the  studio. 
She  had  rushed  in  with  the  mad  hope  of  finding  him. 
There  was  his  easel,  his  palette,  his  camp-stool,  as  he 
had  left  them.  Up  and  down,  down  and  up,  she  flew, 
trying  to  realize  what  had  befallen  her.  The  wind 
shook  the  windows.  The  flame  of  the  lamp  streamed 
up  in  the  sudden  gust.  Ashes  were  strewn  about  the 
hearth.  His  chair  was  pushed  carelessly  aside.  Me- 
chanicall}^  she  turned  down  the  wick,  brushed  the  hearth, 
moved  the  chair  back  to  its  place ;  then  started,  with  a 
kind  of  incredulous  horror  in  her  face,  and  paced  the 
room  again.  There  were  the  two  pictures  :  she  turned 
them  with  the  familiar  motion.  Thymert,  a  yearning 
sorrow  in  his  brave  eyes,  mourned  on  the  sands  by  the 
dead  body  of  a  woman.  Rodellec's  evil  glance  haunted 
her  with  a  silent  curse.  She  could  not  staj^  where  he 
was  !  No,  no,  she  must  go  out  into  the  night,  —  any- 
where, anj' where  away  from  that  cruel  face.  But  she 
must  lock  the  door.  Monsieur  had  said  she  was  to 
take  care  of  the  two  pictures, — monsieur,  with  his 
laughing  eyes  and  tender  voice,  and  his  head  thrown 
back  as  he  smoked,  —  the  beautiful  high  head  she  saw 
always  and  ever}^ where.  She  saw  it  indeed  now,  and 
he  was  smiling  down  upon  her.  "Guenn,"  he  was 
saying  softly,  "  Guenn." 

Gone?  Where  was  he  gone?  Why  was  he  gone? 
She  had  but  half  heard,  half  understood.  Who  said  he 
would  never  come  back?  Who  knew  what  he  would 
do  ?  Did  he  not  alwaj^s  tell  her  first  ?  Who  dared  to 
know  more  than  she,  —  she  who  had  helped  him  all 


422  GUENN, 

these  months,  while  he  was  making  the  great  picture? 
He  and  she  loved  their  picture.  But  she  could  not 
stay  here  with  that  evil  face,  unless  the  beautiful  face 
was  there  too,  so  that  she  could  forget  the  other. 
The  beautiful  face  was  gone,  they  said.  It  was  the 
ugl}',  sneering  lips  that  had  said  it.  They  were  moving 
now  and  muttering,  "Gone  forever  —  forever  gone  ;  " 
and  the  pitiless  eyes  sought  hers  with  a  mocking  stare, 
"  I  must  go  where  I  can  breathe,"  she  gasped,  —  "  out 
in  the  night,  awa}^  from  those  e3'es,  anywhere.  My 
head  is  so  hot !  I  am  forgetting  something.  Ah,  it 
is  to  lock  the  door,  so  that  when  monsieur  comes  whist- 
ling gayl}'  up  the  stairwa}^  to-morrow  morning,  he  will 
smile  to  find  all  safe."  She  locked  the  door  and  the 
gate.  She  put  his  keys  in  her  pocket.  She  had 
touched  them  with  many  a  furtive  caress  during  the 
long  day  at  Quimper,  proud  of  his  trust,  thankful  that 
her  hand  could  rest  where  his  dear  hand  rested  dail}^ 
In  her  keeping  were  his  treasures.  She  was  lojal,  like 
Victor,  he  had  said.  To-morrow,  when  he  would  take 
his  kej's,  he  would  —  but  no!  he  was  gone,  —  "gone 
forever,"  the  cruel  mouth  had  sneered.  There  would 
never  be  any  to-morrow.  There  was  only  a  long 
yesterda3\ 

Past  the  Ulac-bushes,  by  the  faded-gi^ay  house,  through 
the  archwa}^  where  she  had  waited  for  him  all  the  frosty 
winter  mornings,  down  the  dim  road  between  the  gar- 
dens, she  blindly  rushed.  There  were  dark  shapes 
reaching  out  towards  her  over  the  walls.  She  made  her 
little  reverence.  "Shapes,"  she  said  politelj^,  "lam 
not  afraid  of  3^ou,  if  you  have  no  face.  I  am  Guenn 
Rodellec,  who  was  never  afraid.  Everj'body  in  Plouve- 
nec  knows  me."  Her  voice  sounded  so  strange,  she 
hurried  on  to  get  rid  of  it,  the  shapes  after  her.     Over 


GUENN.  423 

the  wall  they  leaned,  crowding  against  one  another ;  and, 

0  Hoty  Mother  !  they  all  had  faces,  —  and  alwaj^s  the 
same  evil  face,  and  always  saying,  "  Gone  forever !  " 
with  a  sneer  and  an  oath  !  She  ran  still  faster.  "  There 
is  something  I  must  find,"  she  thought.  "  I  cannot 
remember,  because  my  head  is  so  hot.  Ah,  it  is  the 
beautiful  face.     I  almost  find  it,  but  it  turns  awa}^" 

She  reached  the  sands.  A  little  gray  bird  seemed  tc. 
be  fluttering  round  her  head,  but  when  she  tried  to 
catch  it,  it  vanished.  "  Little  gra}^  bird,  I  know  j^ou," 
she  said  gently.  "  I  love  3^ou.  You  will  hide  me  from 
the  wicked  face.  You  will  help  me  find  the  beautiful 
one.  I  would  like  to  find  it,  because  it  smiles  all 
day  long,  and  warms  me  like  the  sunshine.  It  is  cold 
here,  only  m}"  head  is  hot.  If  m}'  head  aches  I  shall 
not  look  prett}^  when  I  pose  for  Monsieur  Hamor  to- 
morrow. '  Remain  beautiful  for  me.'  That  is  what  he 
said  to  me  that  day." 

The  winds  spoke  with  a  thousand  voices.  The 
breakers  fell  with  an  incessant  moan.  "I  hear  you 
all,"  she  said  smiling,  and  stretching  out  her  arms 
towards  the  stormy  sea.     "  I  am  not  afraid  of  you. 

1  am  onl}'  afraid  of  one  face,  of  one  face  in  all  the 
world.  I  don't  see  it  now.  The  little  gray  bird  is 
keeping  it  away.  Oh,  don't  beg  so  hard  to  be  buried, 
poor  drowned  folk.  You  make  me  sad.  I  would  help 
you  if  I  could.  I  would  lay  you  all  in  the  churchyard. 
Oh,  I  hear  you —  a  soul  on  every  wave,  —  mothers,  chil- 
dren, brothers,  sisters,  all  seeking  each  other ;  and  the 
lovers,  —  the  poor  lovers.  Did  you  talk  so  to  Yvonne  ? 
For  this  is  the  way  she  came  when  her  painter  went 
away.  I  wonder  if  her  poor  head  was  hot.  I  must 
cool  mine,  or  I  shall  not  be  fresh  and  pretty  for  monsieur 
to-morrow,  when  he  comes  home  from  Lorient.      She 


424  GUENN. 

ran  across  the  third  beach,  poor  Yvonne,  as  I  am  run- 
ning now.  She  was  running  away  from  something, 
running  to  find  something.  Wh}',  so  am  I.  What  is 
it  I  am  running  from  ?  AVhat  is  it  I  am  trying  to  find  ? 
I  cannot  remember,  until  my  head  is  cool  again. 
Yvonne  cut  off  her  pretty  hair.  Ugh,  how  cold  the 
scissors  felt !  It  was  long  brown  hair.  It  reached 
down  to  her  knees.  She  wrapped  it  in  paper,  and  gave 
it  to  old  Andre  to  sell  for  her  in  Quimper,  because,  —  are 
you  listening  waves  ?  jo\x  talk  so  much  3'ourselves  3'ou 
will  never  be  able  to  hear  me, —  because  she  had  no  pretty 
clothes  to  wear  at  the  Nevin  Pardon.  And  when  she 
danced,  and  all  the  world  saw,  he  turned  awa}'  his  face, 
—  he  turned  aw  a}"  his  face,  — he  turned  away  his  face  ! 
Then  Yvonne's  heart  broke,  and  she  threw  herself  down 
from  this  clifi",  and  her  soul  is  beating  on  a  wave  everj^ 
night  against  the  rocks,  just  where  the  sun  shines  morn- 
ings and  hurts  your  eyes,  like  something  I  saw  once. 
I  forget  what,  because  my  head  aches.  Yvonne ! 
Yvonne !  "  she  cried.  ' '  But  that  was  Guenn  who 
danced  at  Nevin,  and  saw  the  great  tree-tops  behind 
the  little  houses,  and  all  the  faces  looking  at  her, 
and  one  face  turned  awa3\  Guenn  was  the  prettiest 
dancer  in  all  Cornouaille ;  but  something  broke  her 
heart  and  she  never  danced  again.  Guenn,  are  3^ou 
there  on  a  wave  ?  Guenn,  answer  me !  Why,  I  am 
Guenn  m3'self !  "     She  laughed  loud  and  long. 

Laughing  still,  she  climbed  the  rocks.  It  was  so 
droll  to  forget  that  she  was  Guenn.  Wh}',  she  knew 
Guenn  Rodellec  perfectlj-  well.  Guenn  was  the  girl 
who  sat  knitting  in  this  verj^  place  ages  ago,  and  the 
cure  of  the  Lannions,  in  his  long  soutane,  looked  down 
kindly  on  her.  She  promised  him  something  that  day. 
His  dark  eyes  were  strange  and  sad,  because  someboc^ 


GUENN.  425 

was  drowned  on  the  sand.  But  no,  that  was  only  a  pic- 
ture, —  Monsieur  Hamor's  picture.  Nannie  was  there 
too,  that  day.  Dear  Nannie.  She  must  go  home  now, 
for  she  had  been  gone  all  day,  buying  a  bridal  dress  in 
Quimper.  She  must  go  home  and  make  some  crepes 
for  Nannie  ;  but  first  she  must  remember  what  she  had 
promised  the  cure  of  the  Lannions. 

She  sat  down  in  the  familiar  place,  her  burning  head 
jn  her  hands.  The  waves  were  calling  her  always. 
(She  heard  Yvonne's  voice  distinctly  :  ' '  Guenn,  —  come, 
Guenn."  It  would  be  easy,  and  the  cool  foam  would 
ease  the  pain  in  her  head.  But  first  she  must  remem- 
ber what  she  had  promised  Thymert.  It  was  a  pity 
his  good  kind  eyes  were  sad.  He  had  stood  there,  she 
sat  here.  Ah  yes,  these  were  the  words:  "'If  ever  I 
need  help,  I  will  come  to  3^ou,  as  surely  as  the  winds 
and  waves  come  to  the  Lannions."  She  had  given 
him  an  honest  hand-clasp.  "It's  a  good  Breton 
promise,"  she  had  said. 

"  Come,  Guenn  !  "  called  Yvonne. 

"I  cannot  come.  I  must  keep  my  promise.  All 
Plouvenec  knows  Guenn  Rodellec  never  broke  her 
word,"  she  cried  with  the  old  pride.  "The  recteur 
and  I  are  Bretons." 

"Help?  Yes,  I  need  help.  I  cannot  quite  re- 
member why.  But  the  recteur  will  tell  me.  He  carried 
me  in  his  arms  when  I  was  a  little  thing.  He  has  been 
good  to  me  all  my  life.  I  promised  to  come  to  him  if 
ever  I  should  feel  alone,  if  ever  I  should  not  know 
where  to  go  or  what  to  do.  Ah  yes,  I  do  feel  unhappy, 
I  don't  know  why.  I  cannot  think  why  I  cry  so  hard  ; 
but  I  am  unhappy  indeed,  and  alone,  and  I  know  no 
one  here  except  poor  Yvonne.  All  the  other  voices  are 
strange.     *  if  any  tiling  should  happen,'  the  good  cure 


426  GUENN. 

said  that  ^s^y.  Jeanne  and  Nannie  were  laughing  on 
the  rocks;  Meurice's  boat  was  coming  in,  all  sails 
spread.  It  looked  like  a  storm.  Well,  what  happened? 
Why  am  I  sobbing?  What  must  I  find?  Thymert 
will  tell  me,  and  he  will  see  that  I  keep  my  word. 
Yvonne,  I  am  sad,  — sad  as  death  when  I  think  of  yoUo 
It  is  a  pity  he  turned  away  his  face.  And  your  soul 
on  a  wave  beating  against  the  cliff !  " 

Down  the  rocks  she  sprang,  hearing  always  the  in- 
numerable voices  of  the .  souls  on  the  waves,  calling 
each  other,  calling  her,  in  infinite  unrest.  "I  cannot 
come.  I  must  keep  my  promise.  Why  do  you  call 
me  so?"  she  asked  reproachfully.  "  You  are  Bretons 
yourselves." 

On  she  flew  over  the  three  beaches,  drenched  with 
the  spray  of  the  thundering  March  breakers,  past 
the  few  late  lights  of  the  sleeping  village,  and  round 
the  dusk}^  Point  where  she  had  stood  scores  of  times 
to  wait  for  the  incoming  boats.  She  ran  swifth'  along 
the  qua}',  found  Meurice's  boat,  loosened  it  from  its 
moorings,  —  the  great  boat  manned  usually  by  three 
sailors  and  the  mousse,  —  set  full  sail,  and  put  off*.  ' '  My 
head  will  feel  cooler  by  the  time  I  reach  the  Lannions. 
Ah !  there  is  the  little  gray  bird  on  the  mainmast. 
Good !  Then  I  shall  not  see  the  wicked,  cruel  face." 
She  shuddered.  ' '  Gone  forever  ?  What  is  gone  forever  ? 
Never  mind.  Th^^mert  will  tell  me  ;  Thymert  will  know. 
Not  another  girl  in  all  Plouvenec  can  sail  this  boat 
alone ;  but  I  am  strong.  Everybody  sa^'s  Guenn 
Rodellec  is  the  strongest  girl  in  Plouvenec.  And 
Meurice's  boat  indeed  knows  the  way  of  itself  to  the 
Lannions.  It  used  to  take  me  over  often  enough  to 
monsieur,  those  beautiful  mornings.  Ah,  3'es  !  monsieur 
is  waiting  and  smiling  on  the  rocks.     He  never  once 


GUEJSIN.  427 

turned  away  his  face  on  the  Lannions.  He  will  look 
at  me  again.  If  he  would  look  at  me  just  once,  the 
pain  in  my  head  would  stop.  And  monsieur  le  recteur 
knows  that  I  will  keep  my  promise,  m}'  good  Breton 
promise.  'It's  a  promise?'  said  he.  'It's  a  prom- 
ise,' said  I.  Meurice's  boat  was  coming  in,  and  it  looked 
like  a  storm." 

"  Ah,  mon  dieu,  que  la  vie  est  amere." 

The  sweet  careless  song  floated  on  the  gale  as 
Meurice's  boat  ran  wildly  before  the  storm,  out  on  the 
dark,  tumultuous,  open  bay.  "  Meurice  himself  never 
ran  her  along  hke  this  !  Faster,  faster !  "  she  cried, 
clapping  her  hands  and  laughing.  "  To  the  Lannions  ! 
There  he  will  not  turn  away  his  face.  There,  I  shall 
come  as  surely  as  the  winds  and  waves.  That  was  my 
good  Breton  promise.  Faster !  To  the  Lannions ! 
To  Thjmert ! " 

At  dawn  the  next  morning  Thymert  stood  at  his 
chapel  door.  The  storm  had  been  severe.  He  feared 
bad  news  of  his  fisher-folk.  Two  good  boats  were  out, 
and  his  best  men.  The  wind  had  gone  down,  the  sea 
was  quieter,  but  sullen  and  menacing  still.  He  shaded 
his  anxious,  loving  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  looked  far 
over  the  water  in  every  direction  ;  then  closely  at  the 
Lannions  with  kindly  scrutiny-,  hoping  no  chimney  was 
down,  no  cottage  unroofed.  Last  of  all  he  scanned  his 
own  little  island. 

What  was  that  by  the  great  rock?  Something  red, 
something  white,  —  something  outstretched  on  the  sands. 
He  went  striding  towards  it,  seized  with  a  nameless 
terror. 

"O  my  God!"  he  moaned,  and  knelt  by  the  little 
figure.     It  lay  face  down ;  but  Thymert  did  not  need 


428  .  GUENN. 

to  turn  it,  to  know  who  had  come,  as  surely  as  the 
winds  and  waves,  to  the  Lannions.  He  hfted  her  in 
his  arms,  his  face  fierce  and  set,  and  carried  her 
through  the  chapel  porch  and  laid  her  on  his  own  bed. 
He  had  her  now  alone.  There  was  no  one  to  stand 
between  them.  No  one  should  come  near  her.  There 
she  lay,  maidenl}^  and  beautiful.  He  bolted  ever}^ 
door.  His  people  sought  their  priest  in  vain.  All  day 
long  the  strong  man  knelt  by  the  dead  child,  alone  with 
her,  with  his  agony,  his  conscience,  and  his  God. 

Towards  evening  he  rose,  and  signalled  old  Brigitte. 
When  she  arrived  and  saw  his  face  she  screamed. 
"Hush,"  he  said,  "come  here  and  take  care  of  this 
little  drowned  girl.  Watch  by  her  until  I  can  send 
you  help." 

"  Holy  Mother,  but  it  is  Guenn  !  " 

The  lovely  eyes  were  closed  ;  the  mobile,  spirited  face 
was  at  last  quiet ;  the  sweet  wild  laughter  was  hushed 
forever;  the  busy  little  hands  were  crossed  tranquilly 
now  over  the  red  kerchief;  the  loyal,  generous  heart  had 
ceased  to  beat. 

"So  meek,  so  still,  one  would  not  know  the  little 
witch,"  sobbed  old  Brigitte. 

The  cure  leaned  over  the  still,  pure  face,  his  anguish 
smouldering  in  his  deep  eyes.  He  stretched  his  hands 
yearningly  over  her  beloved  head.  Not  once  had  he 
touched  her,  except  to  close  her  eyes,  lay  her  hands  on 
her  breast,  and  straighten  the  folds  of  her  gown. 
Now  his  prayer,  his  benediction,  and  his  farewell  were 
silent,  as  was  his  sorrow.  He  turned  and  left  her,  — 
with  her,  all  the  joy  of  his  life. 

He  set  sail  alone  for  Plouvenec.  Looking  neither  to 
the  right  nor  the  left,  he  passed  the  astonished  sailors 
on  the  quay,  walked  straight  to  the  inn,  and  spoke  me- 


GUENN.  429 

chanicall}',  his  face  ashj^-pale,  a  few  brief  words  with 
madame.  That  same  night  he  drove  to  Quimper,  and 
was  closeted  many  hours  with  his  venerable  and  sorely 
perplexed  bishop. 

Plouvenec  never  saw  his  glowing  ardent  face  again, 
never  again  welcomed  the  old  threadbare  soutane  swing- 
ing along  its  streets,  never  felt  the  beautiful  warmth  of 
his  smile,  the  strength  of  his  presence.  Never  again 
did  his  tender,  brown  eyes  rest  upon  his  rude  island 
chapel,  his  fisher-folk,  his  Lannions. 

After  Guenn  was  gone  little  Jeanne  was  like  a  bird 
mourning  for  its  mate.  She  pined,  and  would  not  be 
comforted.  By  the  river,  while  the  others  talked,  she 
would  only  bend  lower  over  the  water,  and  sob  and 
weep  in  a  wailing,  hopeless  way.  At  the  usine  it  was 
even  worse,  she  thought.  One  grew  so  tired  without 
Guenn's  jokes  and  drolleries.  Jeanne  was  in  fact  tired 
man}'  months.  Madame  at  the  Voyageurs  seemed  to 
know  best  what  to  do  with  her.  Madame  did  not  chat- 
ter like  the  others. 

' '  When  you  are  diflferent,  something  always  hap- 
pens. Guenn  was  different,"  Jeanne  would  say  drear- 
il}' ;  and  madame  would  answer,  with  a  soft  look  in  her 
eyes:  "That  is  true,  Jeanne.  She  was  different,  God 
knows." 

Jeanne  married  young  because  it  was  expedient,  and 
grew  old  and  wrinkled  fast,  and  toiled  unceasinglj^ ; 
and  sent  her  brave  boys  to  sea,  to  lose  them,  and  mourn 
for  them  nights  when  winds  and  waves  were  high. 
She  lived  the  laborious,  patient  life  which  Guenn  had 
regarded  as  the  bitterest  fate.  Jeanne  bore  it  gently, 
as  it  was  her  nature  to  bear  everything,  until  her  gen- 
tleness settled  into  permanent  stohdity,  and  her  days 


430  GUENlSr, 

became  a  mechanical  round  of  leaden  cares,  reaching 
Into  loveless,  forlorn  old  age. 

As  for  madame,  she  had  her  house  to  fill  and  satisf}' ; 
but  in  some  wa}'  the  young  girls  of  Plouvenec  grew 
freer  with  her,  and  came  to  her  for  advice  about  ribbons 
and  the  most  trifling  things.     However  full  the  Voya- 
geurs  might  be,  madame  never  seemed  too  busy  to  look 
carefully  in  a  girl's  face,  note  its  shy  blush,  and  hear 
what  she  had  to  say.     When  an  artist,  arriving  from 
Paris,  was  old,  and  quite  unconscious  of  the  pretty  wait- 
resses, she  rejoiced.     To  a  charming  exterior  she  was 
apt  to   remain    singularly    undemonstrative.      "Why 
should  our  girls  suffer  needlessly?"  she  would  demand 
of  the  only  person  honored  by  her  entire  confidence. 
"Life  is  up-hill  work,  at  best.     Why  must  the  strangers 
have  everything  their  own  way  ?     Did  I  make  a  mistake 
with  that  poor  child  ?    Could  I  have  helped  her  more  ?  " 
Rodellec  mourned  conspicuously,  and  fairly  revelled 
in  the  luxury  of  woe.     He  received  the  sympathy  of 
many  good  and  unimaginative  souls  ;  and  in  his  maudhn 
moments  his  angel-children  and  his  angel-wife  formed 
a  convenient  group  in  the  backgi'ound,  against  which 
he  aiTanged  his  suffering  and  picturesque  personality 
in  prominent  rehef.     Active  on  his  boat,  unsurpassed 
in  his  exploits  beneath  the  glare  of  the  orange  Hght,  he 
remained  hale  and  hearty  and  fair  of  skin,  many  long 
years.     Restful   sleep   blessed   his   nights,    never   dis- 
turbed but   by   an  excess   of  gi'og ;    a  good   appetite 
solaced  his  days.     His  hfe  was  replete  with  the  so-called 
rewards  of  virtuous  hving.     If  ever  among  the  group  of 
girls  singing  blithely  on  the  common,  evenings,  a  voice 
had  an  innocent,  irrepressible,  mirthful  ring  like  Guenn's, 
if  ever  a  little  figure,  with  large  brilliant  eyes,  a  lovely 
face,  and  a  red  kerchief  neatly  pinned,  flitted  across 


GUENN.  431 

his  path,  he  would  cross  himself  piously,  wipe  his  eyes, 
and  ejaculate  appropriately,  "My  angel-child!"  Ro- 
dellec  was  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  suffering  is  made. 

Nannie  sickened  and  died.  It  was  perhaps  the  clev- 
erest thing  the  boy  could  do,  but  Nannie  was  always 
clever.  He  had  never  had  much  strength,  he  had  felt 
all  winter  more  tired  than  usual ;  and  his  hold  upon  life 
was  so  feeble  that  he  simply  did  not  know  how  to  live 
without  Guenn,^ — bright,  strong  Guenn,  who  only  smiled 
radiantly  when  he  mocked  and  teased  her ;  beautiful 
Guenn,  rosy  as  a  peach,  fresh  as  a  dew-drop,  who  sang 
and  danced  and  laughed  and  worked,  and  was  always 
where  she  was  needed.  He  did  not  suffer  much,  but 
only  wasted  away,  and  the  women  of  the  village  were 
good  to  him.  Jeanne's  mother  took  him  home  at  the 
wise  suggestion  of  madame  at  the  Voyageurs.  Nan- 
nie was  quiet  and  grateful  at  the  last,  but  obstinately 
refused  to  see  his  father,  and  nearly  went  into  convul- 
sions when  people  —  of  the  species  that  persist  in  judg- 
ing family  relationships  by  the  conventional  idea  of  what 
they  ought  to  be,  rather  than  by  the  bitter  truth  of  what 
they  are,  —  piously  pleaded  his  father's  cause  with  him, 
and  begged  to  introduce  the  penitent  Rodellec,  as  a 
warning  and  edifying  example  by  his  son's  death-bed. 

"  Sobs  and  gurgles  are  cheap,"  sneered  Nannie. 
*' Father  or  no  father,  don't  talk  to  me!  Bring  him 
along,  and  I'll  turn  my  face  to  the  wall.  He  killed  her. 
He  has  killed  us  all.  I  hate  him.  And  if  you  want  to 
know  the  truth,  I  have  hated  him  all  my  life." 

Then  often  he  would  murmur,  his  large  blue  eyes 
upturned,  "  I  saw  it  all  coming.  I  told  him,  I  told  her. 
The  other  one  was  not  to  blame.  I  always  knew  it  would 
be  so,"  he  persisted  to  the  last.  "It  had  to  be  so. 
The  other  one  came  and  went  and  did  not  know."    The 


432  GUENN. 

women  repeated  his  sa3'ings  with  awe,  and  added  them 
to  their  store  of  ghost  stories,  miracles,  prophecies, 
and  magic.  So  Nannie  won  the  honors  he  had  most 
desired  during  his  puny  existence,  and  passed  away,  if 
not  in  an  odor  of  sanctity,  in  what  he  at  least  esteemed 
far  higher,  a  mystic  and  supernatural  atmosphere. 

Even  Guenn's  impetuous  heart,  the  loyal  heart  that 
beat  so  passionately  for  her  people,  —  the  warm  heart 
with  all  its  exactions,  ambitions,  small  vanities,  and 
great  loves,  —  would  have  been  satisfied,  could  she  have 
heard  the  women  by  the  river.  How  the  young  ones 
wept  and  mourned  ;  how  old  Mother  Nives,  with  a  queer 
break  in  her  angry  voice,  called  out :  "  Hush  up,  fools  ! 
She  was  worth  the  whole  pack  of  yow.  Who  will  give 
a  body  a  merry  word  now?  Who  has  dancing  eyes,  that 
make  one  laugh  and  forget  the  ache  in  one's  bones? 
Who  of  you  is  worth  talking  to  ?  "  scowling  fiercely. 
"Hush  up,  I  say!" 

To  which  Mother  Quaper  responded  gutturally,  through 
volcanic  sobs  :  "  Who  indeed,  Madame  Nives?  But  it 's 
late  in  the  day  for  you  to  find  it  out.  I  was  always  her 
friend,  and  she  knew  it." 

Battle  royal  ensued,  long-continued,  hot,  and  reach- 
ing over  wide  fields  ;  but  it  would  have  pleased  Guenn, 
for  it  was  in  her  honor.  And  honest  tears  flowed  fast, 
and  praises  of  her  cleverness,  brightness,  and  beauty 
sounded  many  days  by  the  river.  Even  the  stolid  girls, 
the  ugly  and  jealous  girls,  found  something  kind  to  say, 
some  remembered  word  or  famous  deed  of  Guenn  Ro- 
dellec  to  recount ;  for  thus  we  treat  those  whom  we  can 
harm  no  more,  and  where  the  angel  of  death  spreads 
his  majestic  wings,  env}"  withdraws  its  poisonous  breath 
and  repudiates  its  own  malignity.  Guenn  was  then  not 
forgotten,  but  passed  gloriously  into  the  village  annals. 


GUENN-.  433 

When,  in  the  busiest  sardine-season,  a  girl  was  praised 
for  a  clever  bargain,  a  saucy  laughing  answer,  or  for 
rapid  work  in  the  usine,  the  grimy  fish- wives  and  rough 
sailors  would  shake  their  heads  and  say,  "Ah,  that's 
nothing  to  Guenn  Rodellec !  "  When  at  a  Pardon  a 
young  girl,  flushed  and  brilliant,  came  forward  to  receive 
the  prize  for  dancing,  and  blushed  still  deeper  under 
her  lover's  ardent  gaze,  until  the  mounting  color  reached 
her  modest  coiffe,  the  young  men  would  exclaim  :  "Ah, 
but  you  should  have  seen  Guenn  Rodellec,  with  cheeks 
as  pink  as  apple -buds,  and  feet  as  light  as  the  crest  of 
a  wave." 

So  Guenn's  imperious  vitality  seemed  to  fill  its  right- 
ful place  long  after  she  was  gone  ;  and  when  the  people 
spoke  of  her,  the  vivid  little  figure,  with  its  sinuous 
grace  and  daring,  seemed  again  to  be  flashing  through 
the  village,  with  a  friendly  call  to  the  sailors  on  the 
digue,  a  bold  retort  flung  to  any  one  who  dared  provoke 
it,  the  sweet  audacious  voice  singing  ever,  at  work  and 
at  pla}^  the  mutinous  blue  e3^es,  with  their  vast  indul- 
gence for  her  Plouvenec,  their  haughty  stare  for  the 
insignificant  world  beyond. 

Ten  years  later,  Hamor  happened  to  be  passing  a 
winter  in  Rome.  Time  had  treated  him  gently  and 
generousl}^,  softening  some  angles  of  face  and  figure, 
yet  leaving  him  still  with  the  charm  of  his  bojish  happy 
grace,  and  the  golden  gleams  in  his  blond  hair  and 
beard.  Distinguished  in  his  art,  steadily  advancing, 
his  aspiration  boundless,  with  a  judicious  number  of 
friends  and  sufficient  wealth  to  meet  his  requirements, 
Hamor  was  a  fortunate  man. 

He  had  not  as  yet  married.  Frequently  he  had  had 
occasion  to  commune  with  himself  upon  this  vital  sub- 

28 


434  GUENN. 

ject,  for  he  was  a  favorite  with  women,  and  still  inclined 
to  make  psj'chological  studies  of  particular!}'  charming 
girls.  There  was  alwaj's  some  one  in  whom  he  was  in- 
teresting himself  more  or  less  sentimentall}',  during 
those  hours  in  which  he  was  prevented  from  working  by 
the  unavoidable  recurrence  of  evening,  the  necessity  of 
dining,  or  some  other  imperative  fact.  But  he  laugh- 
ingl}^  acknowledged  that  no  woman  could  be  more 
to  him  than  the  charming  flower  of  a  da}'.  He  would 
say  to  his  married  friends:  "The  most  of  you,  you 
know,  give  your  wives  more  or  less  divided  homage 
at  best.  I  should  give  mine  none  at  all.  After  the 
novelty  of  daring  to  belong  to  such  a  wonderful  creature 
had  ceased  to  surprise  me,  I  should  forget  her.  I  should 
go  off  to  Egypt  without  saying  good-by.  I  should  do 
the  most  outrageous  things,  upon  my  word.  No  !  while 
I  'm  an  honest  man  I  shall  keep  clear  of  matrimony.  I 
admit  I  have  my  passing  temptations,  like  other  men. 
But  I  assure  you,  when  I  begin  a  new  painting  I  am 
not  aware  that  the  tender  passion  exists.  Now  don't 
jeer ;  it 's  a  fact.  Something  may  be  wanting  in  my 
composition,  but  I  positively  do  forget  that  there  's  such 
a  thing  as  a  kiss  in  the  universe  ;  and  what  is  more,  — 
you  others  may  reason  and  act  as  you  will,  —  I  'm  a 
better  painter  when  I  forget  it.  The  kind  of  wife  I,  in 
my  weaker  moments,  sigh  for,  is  much  too  good  to 
become  a  victim  to  my  obliviousness,  —  and  much  too 
pretty,"  he  would  conclude,  the  tender  smiling  look 
which  he  always  had  for  women  and  children  creeping 
over  his  face,  touched  with  varied  and  mellow  reminis- 
cence ;  and  his  friends  in  a  unanimous  chorus  pro- 
nounced him  :  ' '  An  odd  fellow,  but  an  excellent  fellow 
for  all  that.  Hamor's  heart  is  in  the  right  place." 
From  his  early  childhood,  when  his  gentle  voice  and 


GUENN-,  435 

winning  smile  had  won  from  calloused  maiden  aunts 
the  cakes  denied  to  less  comely  nephews,  his  indulgent 
family  and  the  world  at  large  had  imputed  to  him  an 
incalculable  amount  of  heart.  A  good  reputation,  like 
a  bad  one,  following  a  man  with  an  assiduous  want  of 
reason,  few  people  mentioned  Hamor's  name  without, 
in  one  breath,  alluding  to  his  heart ;  so  that  that  organ, 
faultless  at  least  in  its  functions,  had  become  finally  as 
famous  as  his  paintings. 

Coming  rapidly  from  a  friend's  studio  in  the  Via  San 
Basilio  one  morning,  he  encountered  a  group  of  Carme- 
lite monks.  Intent  upon  his  own  thoughts,  eager  to  re- 
turn to  an  absorbing  work,  he  had  already  passed  the 
mournful  band,  when  he  was  irresistibly  forced  to  stop 
and  follow  them  with  his  eye.  His  trained  glance,  in 
spite  of  his  preoccupation,  had  noted  the  leading  figure, 
and  discovered  a  resemblance  which  mystified  him. 

"  Where  have  I  seen  that  man?  Under  what  other 
conditions?  Ah,  I  have  it.  Bretagne,  —  Les  Lannions, 
—  Th3^mert  himself!  No  other  priest  on  earth  ever 
carried  that  magnificent  pair  of  shoulders,  and  walked 
with  that  sailor  gait." 

He  overtook  the  group,  reached  the  leader,  and 
cried,  his  pleasant  voice  ringing  with  remembrance  and 
welcome,  "Is  it  j'ou,  monsieur  le  cure, — you  3'our- 
self?"  extending  both  hands  cordially. 

The  man  started,  shrank  back,  looked  wildly  around 
as  if  seeking  escape ;  then,  with  the  patience  of  utter 
hopelessness,  resigned  himself.  "  This  too  will  pass 
away,"  warned  the  new  discipline,  smothering  the  hot 
leaping  fires  of  his  old  nature. 

Was  this  indeed  Thymert?  The  rich  brown,  with 
which  the  sea-winds  had  tinged  his  face  in  the  old  free 
life,  was  changed  to  an  ashen  pallor.     The  warmth  of 


436  GUENN. 

his  dark  eyes,  that  had  glanced  in  lo"\^ng  protection 
upon  his  barren  islands,  his  fishermen,  his  Brittany, 
was  forever  gone.  Impenetrable  gloom  had  settled  be- 
neath his  sad  brows,  and  around  the  once  generous  and 
unsuspecting  mouth  were  stern  and  sorrowful  lines. 

"  It  is  as  if  the  spirit  of  youth  in  the  man  had  been 
suddenly  killed,  as  if  he  bore  in  his  heart  the  remem- 
brance of  one  fatal  moment,"  thought  Hamor,  —  shocked 
as  a  man,  finely  analytical  as  an  artist.  He  was  still 
holding  his  hat  in  his  hand.  The  sunshine  fell  on  his 
fair  hair  and  happ}^,  cordial  face.  "Monsieur  le  rec- 
teur,  it  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  see  you  again. 
You  have  not  quite  forgotten  me,  I  hope?" 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  you,  monsieur." 

Hamor  went  on  genially,  wondering  much,  but  not 
disturbed  by  the  priest's  lifeless  manner.  "I  assure 
you,  I  have  never  forgotten  you,  or  anybody  else  in 
Plouvenec.  Happy  days,  those.  How  often  have  I 
longed  to  run  up  to  Bretagne  and  see  all  the  old 
friends.  But  you  know  what  life  is,  —  never  long 
enough  for  our  plans." 

"  Long  enough,"  repeated  the  priest —  without  inter- 
est, without  assent,  without  denial. 

"  Great  heavens,  a  voice  from  the  catacombs," 
Hamor  commented  mentally ;  yet  not  disconcerted, 
continued  in  his  friendly  way  :  ' '  And  you  are  actually 
living  in  Rome  ?  Who  would  have  anticipated  that,  in 
the  old  days?" 

"I  am  living  in  Rome,"  Thymert's  dead  voice 
replied. 

Even  with  Hamor's  proverbial  amiability,  it  was 
difficult  to  prolong  a  conversation  met  by  this  wall 
of  unresponsiveness. 

"  I  should  like  much  to  talk  with  you,  when  you  are 


GUENN.  437 

at  liberty,"  Hamor  began  again  easily.  "  I  remember 
my  Breton  days  so  well.  They  are  among  my  most 
dear  x-eminiscences." 

''  I  have  no  time,"  said  the  pale  priest,  his  cavernous 
eyes  never  turning  from  the  painter's  kindly  sohcitous 
face. 

''Ah?  Then  I  must  seize  the  happy  moment,  and 
ask  you  now,  while  I  have  you,  how  everybody  is.  First 
of  all,  Guenn,  of  course.  Is  she  married?  Is  she 
happy?  Has  she  half  a  dozen  babies,  sun-browned, 
rosy,  and  beautiful  like  herself  ? "  He  saw  them  in 
fancy,  the  sturdy  pretty  little  things,  and  began  to 
smile  on  them  geniall3^ 

Thj^mert's  face  looked  as  if  it  were  carven  in  granite. 
"  Guenn  is  dead,  monsieur." 

"  No  !  Poor  little  Guenn  !  Poor  lovely  little  Guenn  ! 
It  grieves  me  to  hear  that,  upon  my  word.  One  really 
can't  associate  the  idea  of  death  with  Guenn  Rodellec. 
It  always  seemed  to  me  she  would  live  forever.  Upon 
my  word,  you  have  given  me  quite  a  shock,  —  after  these 
years  too,  —  but  I  was  always  fond  of  her.  When  did  it 
happen,  monsieur  le  recteur?  You  will  surely  tell  me 
that,"  he  said  gently. 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  replied  the  hollow  voice. 

"  What !     The  very  year  I  left  Plouvenec  ?  " 

"  The  year  you  left  Plouvenec,  monsieur." 

"  And  how?  "  Hamor  asked  softly. 

"Drowned,  monsieur." 

"  Ah,"  slowly,  "  an  accident.  Poor  dear  pretty  little 
Guenn !  All  her  lightness  and  brightness  gone !  I 
have  often  thought  of  her  since,  I  assure  you.  I  have 
never  found  a  model  so  altogether  beautiful,  so  fresh 
and  free  and  charming.  I  owe  her  much.  You  re- 
member that  my  picture  of  her  brought  me  a  medal  of 


438  GUENN. 

honor?  That  was  the  true  beginning  of  my  good  forv 
tune.  I  sent  her  some  pretty  things  from  Paris,  just 
after  I  left  Brittany.  I  selected  them  carefully.  It 
amused  my  friends ;  but  I  wanted  her  to  know  1  had 
not  forgotten  her." 

The  dark  priest  made  a  strange,  deprecating,  unintel- 
ligible gesture  ;  then  stood  motionless  and  silent  before 
the  sunny-faced  artist. 

"  Well/'  reflected  Hamor,  ''all  I  have  to  say  is,  if 
Rome  has  done  it,  Rome  has  much  to  answer  for. 
This  man  was  the  most  superb  creature  I  ever  saw,  the 
most  gloriously  alive.  Now  he  is  lost  to  humanity, 
—  dead,  petrified." 

Gazing  kindly  into  the  inscrutable  depths  of  Thy- 
mert's  eyes,  the  painter  said,  with  his  fine  musical 
intonation:  "I  will  not  detain  you,  monsieur  le  cure. 
I  see  that  jo\x  are  preoccupied.  May  I  beg  3'ou  to 
keep  this  card,  in  case  3'Ou  should  ever  care  to  talk  with 
me?  For  me,  it  would  alwaj's  be  a  peculiar  pleasure  to 
see  you.  I  shall  always  retain  the*  strongest  and  most 
grateful  remembrance  of  you,  and  of  the  old  Breton 
days." 

"Adieu,  monsieur,"  rejoined  the  hollow  voice;  and 
Thymert  turned  away.  Erect  and  strong  he  passed 
down  the  narrow  Roman  street,  his  powerful  swinging 
shoulders  as  remarkable  in  the  great  city  as  when,  ten 
years  before,  Hamor  had  first  seen  him  in  his  old  sou- 
tane, towering  above  the  rough  fisher-folk  of  his  native 
land.  Then  he  was  king  among  his  people,  by  force  of 
his  rich  magnetism,  and  the  warmth  of  his  noble  and 
passionate  heart.  Now  he  bore  on  his  face  the  majesty 
of  unutterable  pain. 

Hamor  was  unfeignedly  grieved.  "  If  I  did  not  know 
the  simple  goodness  of  the  man,  I  should  say  that  not 


GUENN. 


439 


sorrow  alone,  but  crime,  had  frozen  him  into  this  ghosl 
of  his  former  self." 

The  sombre  priest  returned  to  his  ascetic  duties,  his 
penances,  his  prayers ;  the   happy  painter,  to   his  art 
Each  man  went  his  way. 


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